[S119 - Julia Guercio - continued from Top Ten Anime Betrayals]
Do you know that feeling when you come home and it is clean sheets night? When you jump straight in to bed and it's the comfiest and safest you've ever felt in the world?
That.
It was nothing short of euphoric.
It may sound ridiculous but that's how it felt throwing herself on to the slightly decayed bed in the infirmary. She didn't care about the bleaker reality; the stains and splutters on the mattress, the rusted springs jabbing out the top of the mattress like thorns and the piercing cold that had infiltrated every tile in the room. All she cared about was that her marathon walk across the island, down from the old road, across the south coast and up to the research station complex, had ended with her finding a haven to finally relax.
Julia had been walking all day and night without rest and her feet and legs felt numb from the distance journeyed. At first she thought her mind was playing tricks on her. A safety blanket? That doesn't exist. Her mental state had definitely deteriorated from a day of isolation, living in fear. The murder she witnessed, the paranoia that somebody would jump her at any moment. The lack of sleep was taking its toll.
She hadn't encountered anybody on her cross-country expedition. Only the dead bodies further up the path. The gunshots and screams echoing through the wilderness. She may as well have been alone, but she liked it that way. She didn't have that many friends anyway so feeling completely alone was not new to her. More of her classmates had been named in the morning announcement but she had stopped paying too much attention to those announcements. It was easier that way. It still stung when Ashlee's name was read out. but Karin had become a marked woman.
But that didn't matter anymore. It felt horrible to throw Ashlee and the others away like that but if she got swallowed up in the grief then she wouldn't be able to survive. Not for now. This felt safe and her main concern was her own safety. She had shut the door behind her and ripped off her Converse. Her shoes and socks were soaked through from all the snow she had waded through, keeping off the main paths to keep out of view. Her feet were cut up pretty badly from the clambering across terrains she had been doing the day before. Blisters clung sorely to more blisters. It turned out that her sneakers weren't the best footwear for a day-long hike with no rest. Who knew?
She resisted sleep as much as she could. Where was the burst of insomnia when you needed it? She couldn't afford to sleep in this stupid game. There was too much at risk. If somebody had found her it was possible she would never even get to open her eyes again.
But it was a losing battle.
Her eyes flashed, open and closed, open and closed. Like a faulty light flickering. Her eyelids felt heavier than a thousand bricks pushing down on her cheekbones and yet her breathing and heart rate had calmed.
Ok.
She figured it wouldn't matter too much if she closed her eyes. Not to sleep but just to rest.
Just for a few seconds. Only a minute.
Two at max...
Maybe three.
The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters
Day 5 morning, private
((Timothy Adams, continued from escaping the gay thoughts))
Nngh... nngh...
Timothy grunted under his breath as he crossed the threshold of the infirmary entrance, slamming open the door with the weight of his shoulder as he cradled his arm with his opposite hand, trying his damndest to keep pressure on it as blood continued to leech out a trail of dots behind him.
The first thing he noticed besides the stench of something Timothy couldn't put his finger on in the moment (but stench was definitely the right word) was a pair of running shoes tossed haphazardly by the front door.. Kinda weird, but maybe it was a good sign if someone was comfortable enough to throw off their shoes like they were at home then maybe they weren't a psychopath like 60% of his classmates who would probably murder him for a bag of nacho cheese Doritos.
He took a few breaths as he looked left and right around the gray walls, back down to the red leaking out from his gray sleeve and dripping onto the floor.
"Is anyone here?" he finally called out, urgency in the tempo of his words. "I just cut myself pretty bad. Well, not like 'bad' bad, but I need help. I'm by the front."
Nngh... nngh...
Timothy grunted under his breath as he crossed the threshold of the infirmary entrance, slamming open the door with the weight of his shoulder as he cradled his arm with his opposite hand, trying his damndest to keep pressure on it as blood continued to leech out a trail of dots behind him.
The first thing he noticed besides the stench of something Timothy couldn't put his finger on in the moment (but stench was definitely the right word) was a pair of running shoes tossed haphazardly by the front door.. Kinda weird, but maybe it was a good sign if someone was comfortable enough to throw off their shoes like they were at home then maybe they weren't a psychopath like 60% of his classmates who would probably murder him for a bag of nacho cheese Doritos.
He took a few breaths as he looked left and right around the gray walls, back down to the red leaking out from his gray sleeve and dripping onto the floor.
"Is anyone here?" he finally called out, urgency in the tempo of his words. "I just cut myself pretty bad. Well, not like 'bad' bad, but I need help. I'm by the front."
Like a poorly timed hypnic jerk, the creaking of the infirmary door as it lurched open was just enough to wake Julia from her slumber. Whatever she had been dreaming about quickly left her mind as she wiped the cold sweat from her forehead, her body feeling uncomfortably warm in what was otherwise a freezing chamber. It took a few seconds for her to overcome that initial lethargic haze, her eyes conflicting against the light shining through the rear windows when she heard the boyish voice call out to her. As she came to her senses she realised just how exposed she was laying out in the open with some stranger stood just across the other side of the room.
"Ouch."
She crashed headfirst to the cold floor on the far side of the bed in a desperate attempt to get out of his potential line of sight. Maybe he hadn't heard her involuntary gasp of pain as she smacked against the vinyl floor? If given a minute to reflect on what had just happened she would've realised that she had been about as stealthy as a bull in a china shop but fortunately her dazed state of having been woken up mid-sleep was able to still keep her calm, her fatigue blocking the likely terror she would be feeling under normal circumstances. Last time she was at risk she still had Karen there to help, but now she was completely alone. Isolated.
Her fight or flight survival instincts kicked in as she recovered from her apathy. The seconds felt slow as she considered her options.
Could she fight? Well probably not. She didn't have any weapon to defend herself. No gun or sharp knife, just a useless half-eaten tub of melted ice cream slopping around in her backpack.
What about flight? Unfortunately this was likely out of the question too. Even if she had her shoes on and could make a run for it, he was blocking the only entrance to the infirmary ward, imprisoning her in this unlikely cell.
His voice seemed genuine as he talked about being wounded but it still felt like a trap. With the grave situation they found themselves caught up in, knowing that he was hurt didn't fill with her encouragement that he hadn't been scrapping with other students. Had he gotten injured trying to take someone out? Was he just trying to lull her in to a false sense of security? To let her think he was a friend not a foe only to pull out a gun and fire at her? Fighting against her better judgement, Julia peeked her head out to see the boy stood across from her to get a good look. The figure was skinny with really messy hair, and it took her a few seconds of gawking at him before she realised who it was... Timothy Adams. He wasn't her type of person; far too loud and boisterous, his punk image off-putting and his extreme political rants even more uninviting. But his name definitely hadn't come up on any of the announcements so unless he'd killed fresh that morning he hadn't murdered anybody yet. That had to count for something right?
"Timothy?" she questioned. She knew what she was about to say was either going to defuse the tension in the room or open herself up to getting attacked, but she was out of other options and her only chance of seeing another day was to talk her way out of this one.
"What happened to you?" she took a large intake of breath before continuing. "I'm not armed, I promise."
She kept talking calmly to Timothy as if there was no jeopardy in the air, no elephant in the room. Every word that spilled from her mouth without bullets flying felt like an achievement.
"Here... I haven't used any of the bandages yet, let me help."
"Ouch."
She crashed headfirst to the cold floor on the far side of the bed in a desperate attempt to get out of his potential line of sight. Maybe he hadn't heard her involuntary gasp of pain as she smacked against the vinyl floor? If given a minute to reflect on what had just happened she would've realised that she had been about as stealthy as a bull in a china shop but fortunately her dazed state of having been woken up mid-sleep was able to still keep her calm, her fatigue blocking the likely terror she would be feeling under normal circumstances. Last time she was at risk she still had Karen there to help, but now she was completely alone. Isolated.
Her fight or flight survival instincts kicked in as she recovered from her apathy. The seconds felt slow as she considered her options.
Could she fight? Well probably not. She didn't have any weapon to defend herself. No gun or sharp knife, just a useless half-eaten tub of melted ice cream slopping around in her backpack.
What about flight? Unfortunately this was likely out of the question too. Even if she had her shoes on and could make a run for it, he was blocking the only entrance to the infirmary ward, imprisoning her in this unlikely cell.
His voice seemed genuine as he talked about being wounded but it still felt like a trap. With the grave situation they found themselves caught up in, knowing that he was hurt didn't fill with her encouragement that he hadn't been scrapping with other students. Had he gotten injured trying to take someone out? Was he just trying to lull her in to a false sense of security? To let her think he was a friend not a foe only to pull out a gun and fire at her? Fighting against her better judgement, Julia peeked her head out to see the boy stood across from her to get a good look. The figure was skinny with really messy hair, and it took her a few seconds of gawking at him before she realised who it was... Timothy Adams. He wasn't her type of person; far too loud and boisterous, his punk image off-putting and his extreme political rants even more uninviting. But his name definitely hadn't come up on any of the announcements so unless he'd killed fresh that morning he hadn't murdered anybody yet. That had to count for something right?
"Timothy?" she questioned. She knew what she was about to say was either going to defuse the tension in the room or open herself up to getting attacked, but she was out of other options and her only chance of seeing another day was to talk her way out of this one.
"What happened to you?" she took a large intake of breath before continuing. "I'm not armed, I promise."
She kept talking calmly to Timothy as if there was no jeopardy in the air, no elephant in the room. Every word that spilled from her mouth without bullets flying felt like an achievement.
"Here... I haven't used any of the bandages yet, let me help."
Oh thank God, finally someone normal. Julia wouldn't have been his first pick to run into, but she didn't seem the type of person to kill or have a mental break and cut her hair off in the dark so after four days Timothy would take what he could get.
For a brief moment he wondered how Ellis was doing. Wouldn't be surprised if even he had to give up on Teddie; everyone had their limits.
Anyway, Timothy nodded his head in quick succession, beads of sweat and melted ice from his forehead and under his hat flicking off with each repetition. He scanned around the room quickly before approaching Julia, throwing his bag down by one of the beds and pulling his hand off his other arm to show her the hole in his sleeve and the blood red gash sliced through the skin, audibly wincing through his teeth all the way.
"Thanks. The ice is real bad out there. I slipped and got myself real good on some metal by the garage. I'm not good at this shit, so if you help me I'll share some of my stuff with you."
He winced again as he sat down on one of the beds without waiting for a response, trying to keep his arm out as he threw his scarf and jacket off and flung them away along with more beads of sweat before settling his arm right on top of his knee.
For a brief moment he wondered how Ellis was doing. Wouldn't be surprised if even he had to give up on Teddie; everyone had their limits.
Anyway, Timothy nodded his head in quick succession, beads of sweat and melted ice from his forehead and under his hat flicking off with each repetition. He scanned around the room quickly before approaching Julia, throwing his bag down by one of the beds and pulling his hand off his other arm to show her the hole in his sleeve and the blood red gash sliced through the skin, audibly wincing through his teeth all the way.
"Thanks. The ice is real bad out there. I slipped and got myself real good on some metal by the garage. I'm not good at this shit, so if you help me I'll share some of my stuff with you."
He winced again as he sat down on one of the beds without waiting for a response, trying to keep his arm out as he threw his scarf and jacket off and flung them away along with more beads of sweat before settling his arm right on top of his knee.
It was a cruel twist of fate that Julia had ended up in the infirmary and was now literally only surviving by trying to patch up the wound of somebody she had literally never exchanged more than five words with previously. Nursing others was second nature to her, and in that alternate universe where everything was normal she was only meant to be a few months away from graduating high school and going on to study medicine in Maryland. She had always held on to her childhood ambitions of becoming a doctor. Throughout school she had challenged herself to live up to the expectations put on her by her parents, desperate to not just be "the second child" in comparison to the living definition of perfection that was her sister. She had often dreamed about working in a hospital and whilst there were no illusions about how difficult it would be, she just knew it was her calling, her chance to be somebody and prove her worth. Saving lives, easing pain, helping people.
Doctor Guercio.
It had a ring to it.
Instead she could only frown in the realisation of these dreams fading. Sure she had made it through to day five in these wicked games, but if you had attributed her survival to luck then you wouldn't be completely wrong. But she knew she was lucky. She wasn't delusional, she knew clear as day the harsh reality that the chances of her getting out of this alive were slim to none. Even if she somehow kept surviving, keeping out of the way of trouble, it wasn't going to last forever. A few more hours felt daring whereas a few more days felt impossible.
She was never going to get the chance to be a proper doctor.
Feeling deflated, her frown turned in to a silent sigh as she waited for Timothy to sit down on the bed. It wasn't quite the same as playing doctors and nurses as a child, but she admired the opportunity to at least try to repair something in the sea of chaos and murder. Timothy was wincing loudly from the pain, and this was before she even started to clean the cut. She took the bandages and saline solution from her first aid kit and got to work.
"I''m really sorry... b-but this is probably going to hurt."
Julia was doing her best to be careful. Timothy had proven in the past with some of his antics at school that he could be a loose cannon and she still felt pretty uncomfortable being around him. She didn't want a rush of pain to set him off and for him to suddenly finish her off. Her desires to survive were far too great to let that happen. She calmly sprinkled the saline in to the wound to which the fuzzy-haired boy responded with more of the same; gritted teeth and yelps of pain. Once the saline had cleaned his wound and she was sure there was no possible chance of an infection, she meticulously wrapped his arm up with the bandages to protect it from the elements.
As she finished patching him up, she gently nodded and smiled to signal that it was complete as she returned to her bed to pack up her first aid kit belongings. It was important that service came with a smile.
However it had also dawned her that he no longer needed her around - she was completely expendable to him. The bandages were secured and she didn't have any use to him anymore, if he wanted to he could easily get rid of her here and now. Instead she took this moment to quickly pivot both her stance and the conversation, making sure to put her shoes back on in the process. She considered her options and for both of their sakes had stopped short of asking how he was finding the weather. Instead she opted to learn more about his journey to this point. Was it really just an injury caused by slipping on the ice or was there something more sinister involved? It was a test of faith to see how he reacted.
"So where have you been hiding out the past few days? I never thought I'd see this many sunrises."
Doctor Guercio.
It had a ring to it.
Instead she could only frown in the realisation of these dreams fading. Sure she had made it through to day five in these wicked games, but if you had attributed her survival to luck then you wouldn't be completely wrong. But she knew she was lucky. She wasn't delusional, she knew clear as day the harsh reality that the chances of her getting out of this alive were slim to none. Even if she somehow kept surviving, keeping out of the way of trouble, it wasn't going to last forever. A few more hours felt daring whereas a few more days felt impossible.
She was never going to get the chance to be a proper doctor.
Feeling deflated, her frown turned in to a silent sigh as she waited for Timothy to sit down on the bed. It wasn't quite the same as playing doctors and nurses as a child, but she admired the opportunity to at least try to repair something in the sea of chaos and murder. Timothy was wincing loudly from the pain, and this was before she even started to clean the cut. She took the bandages and saline solution from her first aid kit and got to work.
"I''m really sorry... b-but this is probably going to hurt."
Julia was doing her best to be careful. Timothy had proven in the past with some of his antics at school that he could be a loose cannon and she still felt pretty uncomfortable being around him. She didn't want a rush of pain to set him off and for him to suddenly finish her off. Her desires to survive were far too great to let that happen. She calmly sprinkled the saline in to the wound to which the fuzzy-haired boy responded with more of the same; gritted teeth and yelps of pain. Once the saline had cleaned his wound and she was sure there was no possible chance of an infection, she meticulously wrapped his arm up with the bandages to protect it from the elements.
As she finished patching him up, she gently nodded and smiled to signal that it was complete as she returned to her bed to pack up her first aid kit belongings. It was important that service came with a smile.
However it had also dawned her that he no longer needed her around - she was completely expendable to him. The bandages were secured and she didn't have any use to him anymore, if he wanted to he could easily get rid of her here and now. Instead she took this moment to quickly pivot both her stance and the conversation, making sure to put her shoes back on in the process. She considered her options and for both of their sakes had stopped short of asking how he was finding the weather. Instead she opted to learn more about his journey to this point. Was it really just an injury caused by slipping on the ice or was there something more sinister involved? It was a test of faith to see how he reacted.
"So where have you been hiding out the past few days? I never thought I'd see this many sunrises."
Timothy nodded his head as he complied with Julia and just let her work, keeping his head turned away and his other hand clenching the rim of the bed at every splash of anesthetic and movement along the gash. He was no stranger to hospital visits since he broke a bone probably more times than he can literally count on fingers, but it really hit different when it was a life or death situation.
He tried to take his mind off of it, scrambling his brain for any sort of safe space while waiting for Julia to finish. The only thing that stuck was the warm and caring touch Julia's hands provided him. In hindsight, this was probably the first time he was ever really touched by a girl like that. It felt nice, at least in the safety of being able to trust someone who had no real obligation to help; kinda same with Eden, he guessed. He just wished that circumstances were maybe different.
Soon enough the torture ended, with a tight bandage and only a little stinging. Timothy wiped away a pain tear welling up in the corner of his eyes with the back of his hand as he looked over at her work, smiling back at her. He was never good at wrapping Christmas presents let alone bandaging wounds. He kind of admired people who could just do that or color within the lines like it was nothing.
He stayed seated on the bed, hands folded together as he watched her gather what he assumed was her shoes, luckily not painted with his blood and away from the splatter trail on the floor. "Never see sunrises? That was kind of a unique way to put it. He liked that.
"Just been keeping on keeping on," he replied, looking in her eyes and not missing a beat. "Trying to stay out of trouble, but... I dunno. Keeps finding me, I guess."
He huffed, bringing his eyes to the floor as he bobbed his leg up and down. "I was with Eden- girl Eden- for a bit and a few others, but we got jumped and... well... you heard the announcement yesterday. It's crazy out there, but I'm sure you've seen some shit, too."
He thought for a moment to bring up about seeing a naked Valentin chilling in the hot spring, but maybe that was best to omit for right now. But it did hit him that he never bothered to even ask if Julia was staying alone too or not.
"Anyone else with you, or-?"
He tried to take his mind off of it, scrambling his brain for any sort of safe space while waiting for Julia to finish. The only thing that stuck was the warm and caring touch Julia's hands provided him. In hindsight, this was probably the first time he was ever really touched by a girl like that. It felt nice, at least in the safety of being able to trust someone who had no real obligation to help; kinda same with Eden, he guessed. He just wished that circumstances were maybe different.
Soon enough the torture ended, with a tight bandage and only a little stinging. Timothy wiped away a pain tear welling up in the corner of his eyes with the back of his hand as he looked over at her work, smiling back at her. He was never good at wrapping Christmas presents let alone bandaging wounds. He kind of admired people who could just do that or color within the lines like it was nothing.
He stayed seated on the bed, hands folded together as he watched her gather what he assumed was her shoes, luckily not painted with his blood and away from the splatter trail on the floor. "Never see sunrises? That was kind of a unique way to put it. He liked that.
"Just been keeping on keeping on," he replied, looking in her eyes and not missing a beat. "Trying to stay out of trouble, but... I dunno. Keeps finding me, I guess."
He huffed, bringing his eyes to the floor as he bobbed his leg up and down. "I was with Eden- girl Eden- for a bit and a few others, but we got jumped and... well... you heard the announcement yesterday. It's crazy out there, but I'm sure you've seen some shit, too."
He thought for a moment to bring up about seeing a naked Valentin chilling in the hot spring, but maybe that was best to omit for right now. But it did hit him that he never bothered to even ask if Julia was staying alone too or not.
"Anyone else with you, or-?"
Julia found herself being very unsure of what to think. His reputation in school was very different to the boyish young man she sat with on the bed. She had always avoided him because of that reputation and his fringe views, and yet she found herself almost regretting that. She saw it as some sort of unconventional, beautiful irony. The world was burning around them and yet she felt like the world had given her a second chance at befriending her classmates. Maybe she didn't need to always stick to herself and should've branched out more. Perhaps it takes being plunged into SOTF to start making mature reflections on her teenage years.
Her game plan when Timothy had found her in the infirmary was to manipulate as much as needed. Reduce her threat levels, say or do what she needed to make sure he didn't hurt her. And yet she had softened to the idea that maybe they could actually be good for each other in this game. What previously felt inconceivable had started to become feasible - could she be warming to the idea of the two of them sticking it out as friends? Allies?
People are out here killing each other, literally dying, and yet here she was making friends.
Get a grip!!
Anyway, Timothy seemed genuine. It didn't take a psychologist to be able to read that on his face. From his locked-on eye contact to the stumbles in his speech when talking about Eden. He hadn't elaborated on what actually happened but from the morning's announcement she knew that Eden was no longer in the land of the living. Just like Ashlee. It didn't feel appropriate to pry so she let the conversation continue. She had a habit of regularly saying things she didn't actually mean. Things that sounded a little weird or unorthodox, usually as a result of her brain working too quickly and her thinking before she speaks. She was being careful to not put him off too much.
"I'm sorry to hear that... I didn't know Eden very well but she seemed very talented."
She felt awkward and not sure of what to say. It was probably still pretty raw for him and his body language gave off that he was still in mourning, so anything she said probably wouldn't change anything. She remembered when her Nonna passed away and people she barely knew from school would pass on their consolations and apologies which usually just came across as self-gratifying contributions to make themselves feel better about the situation before quickly moving on to some other vapid conversation.
At Timothy's question she shook her head, looking around the room, "Me and all my friends..."
She wasn't really sure why she had decided to try to make light of the situation. It probably wasn't appropriate but she hoped that trying to lighten the mood came across as endearing rather than offensive. She continued her story, not leaving any time for him to quip back or challenge her.
"I spent the first few days in the hunting lodge bar in the town across the island. There were quite a few of us- Karen, Norbert, Victor," she listed the names of those that had set up the fort alongside her, letting out a foreshadowing gulp before reaching the last two names, "And Ashlee and Karin."
Her body language had changed too. Hearing Ashlee's name on the morning announcement brought up a lot of emotions as she struggled to forgive herself for contributing towards the escalation that led to her death.
"Victor was doing some weird things. Watching us sleep and stuff..." she paused. "And then Karin lost it completely... She grabbed the gun... and shot out. It was meant to hit Victor but instead it... yeah... you can guess the rest. It just all happened so quickly."
She had to stop herself from repeating the story as she felt her tear ducts getting ready to burst. From sharing their stories she realised that both of them had lost a cheerleader that they were close with over the past few days. Despite their long list of differences, the time they spent talking and bonding felt really meaningful. A chance to slowly repair the soul and trust in others that she had lost in the past 24 hours. She felt more trusting that there were good people here still that didn't want to just play the game and kill everybody else. She'd hoped there were others like that too, but it was hard to guess and each interaction was a giant risk. With each sunrise and announcement, more and more of her class were falling. Getting on the bus all those days ago felt like a distant memory with the magnitude of everything since weighing heavily on her mind.
She didn’t want to jump the gun - pardon the pun - but she felt ready to go to the next level. She needed to know what he had in his arsenal.
"What did you get as your weapon?" she curiously asked. "I will show you mine but you can't laugh..."
Julia rummaged through her duffel bag and pulled out the large tub of ice cream, the melted ice cream sloshing instead the tub as she lifted it from the bag and placed it on her lap.
"This was mine..."
If it wasn't her only option for protection she might actually have found the uselessness of her assigned weapon funny.
Her game plan when Timothy had found her in the infirmary was to manipulate as much as needed. Reduce her threat levels, say or do what she needed to make sure he didn't hurt her. And yet she had softened to the idea that maybe they could actually be good for each other in this game. What previously felt inconceivable had started to become feasible - could she be warming to the idea of the two of them sticking it out as friends? Allies?
People are out here killing each other, literally dying, and yet here she was making friends.
Get a grip!!
Anyway, Timothy seemed genuine. It didn't take a psychologist to be able to read that on his face. From his locked-on eye contact to the stumbles in his speech when talking about Eden. He hadn't elaborated on what actually happened but from the morning's announcement she knew that Eden was no longer in the land of the living. Just like Ashlee. It didn't feel appropriate to pry so she let the conversation continue. She had a habit of regularly saying things she didn't actually mean. Things that sounded a little weird or unorthodox, usually as a result of her brain working too quickly and her thinking before she speaks. She was being careful to not put him off too much.
"I'm sorry to hear that... I didn't know Eden very well but she seemed very talented."
She felt awkward and not sure of what to say. It was probably still pretty raw for him and his body language gave off that he was still in mourning, so anything she said probably wouldn't change anything. She remembered when her Nonna passed away and people she barely knew from school would pass on their consolations and apologies which usually just came across as self-gratifying contributions to make themselves feel better about the situation before quickly moving on to some other vapid conversation.
At Timothy's question she shook her head, looking around the room, "Me and all my friends..."
She wasn't really sure why she had decided to try to make light of the situation. It probably wasn't appropriate but she hoped that trying to lighten the mood came across as endearing rather than offensive. She continued her story, not leaving any time for him to quip back or challenge her.
"I spent the first few days in the hunting lodge bar in the town across the island. There were quite a few of us- Karen, Norbert, Victor," she listed the names of those that had set up the fort alongside her, letting out a foreshadowing gulp before reaching the last two names, "And Ashlee and Karin."
Her body language had changed too. Hearing Ashlee's name on the morning announcement brought up a lot of emotions as she struggled to forgive herself for contributing towards the escalation that led to her death.
"Victor was doing some weird things. Watching us sleep and stuff..." she paused. "And then Karin lost it completely... She grabbed the gun... and shot out. It was meant to hit Victor but instead it... yeah... you can guess the rest. It just all happened so quickly."
She had to stop herself from repeating the story as she felt her tear ducts getting ready to burst. From sharing their stories she realised that both of them had lost a cheerleader that they were close with over the past few days. Despite their long list of differences, the time they spent talking and bonding felt really meaningful. A chance to slowly repair the soul and trust in others that she had lost in the past 24 hours. She felt more trusting that there were good people here still that didn't want to just play the game and kill everybody else. She'd hoped there were others like that too, but it was hard to guess and each interaction was a giant risk. With each sunrise and announcement, more and more of her class were falling. Getting on the bus all those days ago felt like a distant memory with the magnitude of everything since weighing heavily on her mind.
She didn’t want to jump the gun - pardon the pun - but she felt ready to go to the next level. She needed to know what he had in his arsenal.
"What did you get as your weapon?" she curiously asked. "I will show you mine but you can't laugh..."
Julia rummaged through her duffel bag and pulled out the large tub of ice cream, the melted ice cream sloshing instead the tub as she lifted it from the bag and placed it on her lap.
"This was mine..."
If it wasn't her only option for protection she might actually have found the uselessness of her assigned weapon funny.
Timothy wasn't really sure what he was supposed to say as Julia unloaded on him. This wasn't the trauma olympics, but she probably definitely won. Losing Eden was unfortunate, but he couldn't imagine how he'd feel if it was Ellis that did her in, or even Teddie as he first assumed was the real danger.
"I'm sorry," was what he settled on. Sometimes sympathy and empathy were the only tools you had left in your toolbox. Maybe he should've shown Teddie more charity, too.
He blinked the thought out of his mind as Julia asked what he was given, showing him a tub of ice cream that was pretty much just soup at this point. Timothy couldn't stop himself laughing a few times at the real sense of fucking humor their enprisoners had.
"I'm sorry," he said again, bringing the back of his hand up to his face to try and conceal the distress chuckles until he could stop. He stood up to grab his duffel bag and slid it back to his bed, eye twitching at the residual arm pain as he sat back down and rifled through it. After a few minutes, he pulled out the two cans of tear gas he still had left, one in each hand as he displayed it for Julia like he was in an infomercial.
"Got these things, I guess. I used one earlier to get Juanita to flee and it really fucked her up. So I guess you could say they're really powerful, especially against living things."
He set one of them on the bed in-between himself and Julia before he went back to fish around his bag. "You can have that one, if you want. Can't call it a lifesaver considering, but it's better than Ben & Jerry's."
"I'm sorry," was what he settled on. Sometimes sympathy and empathy were the only tools you had left in your toolbox. Maybe he should've shown Teddie more charity, too.
He blinked the thought out of his mind as Julia asked what he was given, showing him a tub of ice cream that was pretty much just soup at this point. Timothy couldn't stop himself laughing a few times at the real sense of fucking humor their enprisoners had.
"I'm sorry," he said again, bringing the back of his hand up to his face to try and conceal the distress chuckles until he could stop. He stood up to grab his duffel bag and slid it back to his bed, eye twitching at the residual arm pain as he sat back down and rifled through it. After a few minutes, he pulled out the two cans of tear gas he still had left, one in each hand as he displayed it for Julia like he was in an infomercial.
"Got these things, I guess. I used one earlier to get Juanita to flee and it really fucked her up. So I guess you could say they're really powerful, especially against living things."
He set one of them on the bed in-between himself and Julia before he went back to fish around his bag. "You can have that one, if you want. Can't call it a lifesaver considering, but it's better than Ben & Jerry's."
As Timothy spoke, the infirmary door's handle turned, and it began to slowly creak open. The shadowy figure of a person silhouetted against the light outside filled in the space it made.
A hand snaked inside and rapped "Shave and a Haircut" on the inner side of the door before the crack widened enough for Salem's face to poke in.
"Hey. Here's Johnny, or whatever."
((Salem Fox continued from it takes a lot to make a stew))
When his entrance wasn't immediately met with gunfire or the equivalent, and no faces he really didn't want to see popped up at him, Salem pushed the door open fully and leaned against the doorframe. "Hey, guys. What's hip and happening with you?"
There was a touch of genuine pleasure in his expression as he took in the sight of Timothy and Julia. He hadn't seen anyone since fleeing from Cali the day before, and he'd had a restless night following that. He'd done a lot of thinking, a little spiraling. Kitty had killed again; Ashlyn still hadn't. One of those things was starting to make him nervous.
Salem had been on the prowl since he dragged himself out of the little hidey-hole where he'd curled up to sleep, and so he was relieved and pleased to find Julia (and Tim was there, too) for real. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he leaned against the door, crossing one ankle over the other.
"Looks like you guys aren't too fucked up, huh? That's good." His words were shallowly pleasant, like they'd always been, but that hint of something real took a moment to fade from his face.
Salem was a journalist at heart, and he was looking for the kind of people who made the news.
A hand snaked inside and rapped "Shave and a Haircut" on the inner side of the door before the crack widened enough for Salem's face to poke in.
"Hey. Here's Johnny, or whatever."
((Salem Fox continued from it takes a lot to make a stew))
When his entrance wasn't immediately met with gunfire or the equivalent, and no faces he really didn't want to see popped up at him, Salem pushed the door open fully and leaned against the doorframe. "Hey, guys. What's hip and happening with you?"
There was a touch of genuine pleasure in his expression as he took in the sight of Timothy and Julia. He hadn't seen anyone since fleeing from Cali the day before, and he'd had a restless night following that. He'd done a lot of thinking, a little spiraling. Kitty had killed again; Ashlyn still hadn't. One of those things was starting to make him nervous.
Salem had been on the prowl since he dragged himself out of the little hidey-hole where he'd curled up to sleep, and so he was relieved and pleased to find Julia (and Tim was there, too) for real. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket as he leaned against the door, crossing one ankle over the other.
"Looks like you guys aren't too fucked up, huh? That's good." His words were shallowly pleasant, like they'd always been, but that hint of something real took a moment to fade from his face.
Salem was a journalist at heart, and he was looking for the kind of people who made the news.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Julia couldn't even take offense in Timothy's ribbing, despite her gentle blushing out of embarrassment at the time. He was spot on and laughter was the correct reaction. If the ridiculousness of the kidnapping and fighting to the death wasn't already a dodgy fever dream, the fact their kidnappers really did give her a tub of ice cream and tried to pass it off as her designated weapon was the cherry on top. Of course it could've been worse... whilst not something that she could use for protection, the Moose Tracks came as a homely consolation prize back in the simpler times with the hunting lodge crew. Despite the seriousness of the situation, the contrasting peacefulness of her and her classmates gathered around drinking liquor and eating ice cream was exactly what she needed to stay sane in those early hours and days. It was a glimmer of what they could all have been enjoying if the school trip hadn't been hijacked.
What started out as her trying to be helpful just to stay alive had ended up with her hitting the jackpot as Timothy handed her the canister, netting her something she could actually use to defend herself if she had to. Her brain didn't soak in what tear gas was or how it worked straight away. Obviously she knew about it in layman's terms from history class and playing video games but how it actually worked was unsurprisingly new to her. From Timothy's description of it messing Juanita up when she attacked them then maybe it was exactly the Hail Mary that she may need if she found herself in trouble. A deterrent like this was far more useful to her than an aggressor's weapon because she still had many doubts over whether she had the mindset or strength to go on the attack like some of the others. She packed the canister in to her coat pocket and went back to the small talk. It was crystal clear that neither of them particularly enjoyed small talk and, whilst it didn't come naturally to her, she felt comforted by the simple exchange, hoping that Timothy felt the same.
The stillness of the infirmary was disrupted by a knock on the door - the exuberant tune both playful yet sinister in equal measures.
Salem Fox pushed the door open and inserted himself in to their safety net, the cold air seeping past him to afflict the room like a frozen scourge. She knew Salem a little better than she knew Timothy when he first found her, which put her mind to ease a little. He was pretty popular, had definitely been to some of her sister's parties and had a reputation for being a bit of a womanizer (and manizer, allegedly) but outside of pleasantries at a party they had never hung out. They had probably drank some beers or done some shooters together but that is about it. Not that existing relationships made much of a difference these days, Timothy had proven that.
Paranoia was absolutely exhausting. The repetitive 'friend or foe' rhetoric every time she encountered somebody new was extremely burdensome. One wrong move was literally all it took at this point, that constant weight of knowing your life was hanging in the balance was mentally punishing. She surveyed him from head to foot as he made his way in to the room, no weapons out on display which was probably a good sign and she was pretty confident his name hadn't been featured on any of the announcements as a killer. He was very difficult to read; the disparity between the light surface level what he was saying and the eerie undertones in those words. It was probably just her paranoia being rife, every single sentence could be interpreted in numerous ways and it was difficult not to read too much in to each word. She settled that he was just being friendly amidst the uncertainty and awkwardness of every new interaction on this island of death. Every turn of the maze with an unexpected outcome waiting for you.
She looked to Timothy and then back to Salem, who had stopped coming towards them at the first row of beds closest to the door.
"S-Salem, it's nice to see you."
Julia spoke softly to get him on side but the lack of conviction in her words was excruciatingly transparent.
What started out as her trying to be helpful just to stay alive had ended up with her hitting the jackpot as Timothy handed her the canister, netting her something she could actually use to defend herself if she had to. Her brain didn't soak in what tear gas was or how it worked straight away. Obviously she knew about it in layman's terms from history class and playing video games but how it actually worked was unsurprisingly new to her. From Timothy's description of it messing Juanita up when she attacked them then maybe it was exactly the Hail Mary that she may need if she found herself in trouble. A deterrent like this was far more useful to her than an aggressor's weapon because she still had many doubts over whether she had the mindset or strength to go on the attack like some of the others. She packed the canister in to her coat pocket and went back to the small talk. It was crystal clear that neither of them particularly enjoyed small talk and, whilst it didn't come naturally to her, she felt comforted by the simple exchange, hoping that Timothy felt the same.
The stillness of the infirmary was disrupted by a knock on the door - the exuberant tune both playful yet sinister in equal measures.
Salem Fox pushed the door open and inserted himself in to their safety net, the cold air seeping past him to afflict the room like a frozen scourge. She knew Salem a little better than she knew Timothy when he first found her, which put her mind to ease a little. He was pretty popular, had definitely been to some of her sister's parties and had a reputation for being a bit of a womanizer (and manizer, allegedly) but outside of pleasantries at a party they had never hung out. They had probably drank some beers or done some shooters together but that is about it. Not that existing relationships made much of a difference these days, Timothy had proven that.
Paranoia was absolutely exhausting. The repetitive 'friend or foe' rhetoric every time she encountered somebody new was extremely burdensome. One wrong move was literally all it took at this point, that constant weight of knowing your life was hanging in the balance was mentally punishing. She surveyed him from head to foot as he made his way in to the room, no weapons out on display which was probably a good sign and she was pretty confident his name hadn't been featured on any of the announcements as a killer. He was very difficult to read; the disparity between the light surface level what he was saying and the eerie undertones in those words. It was probably just her paranoia being rife, every single sentence could be interpreted in numerous ways and it was difficult not to read too much in to each word. She settled that he was just being friendly amidst the uncertainty and awkwardness of every new interaction on this island of death. Every turn of the maze with an unexpected outcome waiting for you.
She looked to Timothy and then back to Salem, who had stopped coming towards them at the first row of beds closest to the door.
"S-Salem, it's nice to see you."
Julia spoke softly to get him on side but the lack of conviction in her words was excruciatingly transparent.
Timothy shot up from crounching over his bag at the sound of the door opening. He ran through a whole gauntlet of emotions at the reveal that it wasn't a murderer, but it wasn't someone that friendly either. His eyebrows slowly furrowed as Salem spoke, and he shared a glance with Julia who seemed like she mirrored the same sort of vibes on their new visitor.
"...Yeah, I guess?" Timothy said in a raised inflection, looking down at his patched up arm for a split second. "...You good too, bro?"
"...Yeah, I guess?" Timothy said in a raised inflection, looking down at his patched up arm for a split second. "...You good too, bro?"
Salem shrugged in response to Tim's question. "I mean, you know how it is." He shot a meaningful glance at Tim's bandaged arm.
If he'd been looking to stumble on two people who formed a perfect allegory for the direction his train of thought had been stuttering in, could he have found two more perfect people? Maybe if he'd stopped and gone over a list of everyone he knew, but off the cuff, Julia and Tim worked just fine. Tim was one of the more obnoxious members of the tankie squad rolling around, parroting rhetoric with twice Natasha's volume and half her eloquence. He and everyone else who had felt their third eye open after reading five hundred words of Marx were a dime a dozen. When his name came up, Salem was comfortably certain that few people would bat an eye, and even fewer would dwell on it.
Julia, though.
"Sorry to bust in on you guys with no warning, but I've been out in the cold for a bit. You mind if I hang out?"
The thing that Salem had learned about reporting early on, and had had reinforced to him over years of studying history and politics, was that very often, the actual things you said in an article didn't matter. As soon as people knew the subject, they'd take what they wanted from it, and what they wanted was usually what they already expected and believed. Some only got as far as the headline before packing it in and going off with their opinion, feeling vindicated or slighted as necessary.
Tim would never look at a news article about, say, the economy, and see anything but evidence for why his half-baked understanding of socialism was superior. Whenever he wandered off and died at some point in the next few days, people wouldn't hear anything except that a mouthy, reckless radical had met his inevitable end.
Julia, though. She could have been the girl of Salem's dreams.
Inside his coat pocket, Salem's fingers curled around the grip of the gun, and he pushed away from the door and took a couple of easy steps further into the room. "Don't wanna impose if you wanted some private time, but..." He inclined his head towards the open doorway and raised his eyebrows in silent question.
If he'd been looking to stumble on two people who formed a perfect allegory for the direction his train of thought had been stuttering in, could he have found two more perfect people? Maybe if he'd stopped and gone over a list of everyone he knew, but off the cuff, Julia and Tim worked just fine. Tim was one of the more obnoxious members of the tankie squad rolling around, parroting rhetoric with twice Natasha's volume and half her eloquence. He and everyone else who had felt their third eye open after reading five hundred words of Marx were a dime a dozen. When his name came up, Salem was comfortably certain that few people would bat an eye, and even fewer would dwell on it.
Julia, though.
"Sorry to bust in on you guys with no warning, but I've been out in the cold for a bit. You mind if I hang out?"
The thing that Salem had learned about reporting early on, and had had reinforced to him over years of studying history and politics, was that very often, the actual things you said in an article didn't matter. As soon as people knew the subject, they'd take what they wanted from it, and what they wanted was usually what they already expected and believed. Some only got as far as the headline before packing it in and going off with their opinion, feeling vindicated or slighted as necessary.
Tim would never look at a news article about, say, the economy, and see anything but evidence for why his half-baked understanding of socialism was superior. Whenever he wandered off and died at some point in the next few days, people wouldn't hear anything except that a mouthy, reckless radical had met his inevitable end.
Julia, though. She could have been the girl of Salem's dreams.
Inside his coat pocket, Salem's fingers curled around the grip of the gun, and he pushed away from the door and took a couple of easy steps further into the room. "Don't wanna impose if you wanted some private time, but..." He inclined his head towards the open doorway and raised his eyebrows in silent question.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
“No of course not, please come in.” Julia paused, pointing at the vacated beds, “Make yourself at home!”
As soon as she said it her face involuntarily grimaced, instantly regretting her choice of words. Make yourself at home? She feared the nonchalance of her invite would repel any goodwill that Salem had towards the pair. He made her nervous, in a way that Timothy never did. The warmth on the surface of his words, spritely but unassuming, were dismissed by the mysterious undertones lying beneath that surface. Julia noticed his piercing eyes more and more with every step forward he took. He seemed to barely glance over to Timothy, instead locked on to her.
Saying she felt uncomfortable was a sharp understatement. The risk that came with every person walking through that door created unprecedented jeopardy, leaving her mind and gut battling for control over her instincts. Ultimately she had to just keep remembering, five days in already and she was still there. That wasn’t an accident, there was a reason she was still alive.
Salem seemed hesitant to sit down, maintaining that shroud of mystery that surrounded him, Julia well aware that his hand was still hidden within his jacket. An air of awkwardness stuck in the room as all three of them avoided making small talk. She used the opportunity to assess options, just like she was taught in elementary school during active shooter drills. Keep aware of your surroundings, make sure to keep your exits accessible.
It felt simple enough.
But she didn’t want it to come to that.
No, she wasn’t going to let it come to that.
There was no way it was going to come to that.
Julia let out a sigh and broke the silence - cutting the tension with her metaphoric knife.
“Don’t worry Salem. You’re safe now, we’ve got your back.”
This time the conviction in her words was right on the money. No stuttering, no stumbling. She had to build that rapport with him and she had to build that rapport quickly.
As soon as she said it her face involuntarily grimaced, instantly regretting her choice of words. Make yourself at home? She feared the nonchalance of her invite would repel any goodwill that Salem had towards the pair. He made her nervous, in a way that Timothy never did. The warmth on the surface of his words, spritely but unassuming, were dismissed by the mysterious undertones lying beneath that surface. Julia noticed his piercing eyes more and more with every step forward he took. He seemed to barely glance over to Timothy, instead locked on to her.
Saying she felt uncomfortable was a sharp understatement. The risk that came with every person walking through that door created unprecedented jeopardy, leaving her mind and gut battling for control over her instincts. Ultimately she had to just keep remembering, five days in already and she was still there. That wasn’t an accident, there was a reason she was still alive.
Salem seemed hesitant to sit down, maintaining that shroud of mystery that surrounded him, Julia well aware that his hand was still hidden within his jacket. An air of awkwardness stuck in the room as all three of them avoided making small talk. She used the opportunity to assess options, just like she was taught in elementary school during active shooter drills. Keep aware of your surroundings, make sure to keep your exits accessible.
It felt simple enough.
But she didn’t want it to come to that.
No, she wasn’t going to let it come to that.
There was no way it was going to come to that.
Julia let out a sigh and broke the silence - cutting the tension with her metaphoric knife.
“Don’t worry Salem. You’re safe now, we’ve got your back.”
This time the conviction in her words was right on the money. No stuttering, no stumbling. She had to build that rapport with him and she had to build that rapport quickly.
Timothy scooted along the bed in lockstep with Salem approaching. Something about the guy just read very wrong to him, but he couldn't place why, like his words clashed with his face or something. Timothy was never very smart and was always fine with that, but he liked to think he had a decent read on people. You never had to think if you trusted your vibes.
He didn't really say anything else, but his eyes couldn't stop staring at Salem's hand hiding in his pocket.
He didn't really say anything else, but his eyes couldn't stop staring at Salem's hand hiding in his pocket.
Yeah, Salem had been exactly right about these two. His shoulders relaxed, and he walked a few more steps into the room, leaving the door standing open. "Thanks, you don't know how much that means."
Exactly nil, to put a fine point on it, like every other promise of safety on the island. That was okay, though. Safety wasn't what Salem was after.
To continue battering a metaphor, some people were just front page material. A pretty young woman, for example. The kind of girl who would mainly be described as nice and smart, the kind of person who could light up a room. A girl with dreams, wholesome ones like becoming a doctor or teacher or vet. If she had a boyfriend, they'd be devoted to each other in a perfectly chaste way. If she went to church, it wouldn't be so often for anyone but hardline atheists to label her a religious weirdo.
That was the kind of girl who got hundreds of strangers searching when she disappeared and dozens or hundreds more at her funeral, because everyone knew how that eventually ended. They expected it, and they wanted it in some way. Living trauma was ugly, and however much they denied it, most people preferred pretty victims.
"You guys are a breath of fresh air, really. I saw Janice on the first day, right after she carved up- oh, what's her face," Salem said, half-hoping to make them flinch. "It was pretty gnarly, not gonna lie." Not that he'd actually seen the crime scene, in either case. Let the audience fill in the blanks.
He rolled his shoulders to loosen them further. "Hey, can I ask another favor?"
Without waiting for an answer, he repeated the motion and this time let its momentum travel down his arm, bringing the gun out of his pocket with a flourish. "Don't move."
Salem had crossed lines before, of course. He'd sent that particularly regrettable text, clicked that link that led to things he couldn't unsee, left things unsaid more often than not when he could have said them. This was just another one of those, the snowball kicked down a hill that immediately started rolling too fast to stop even if you wanted to.
Whatever happened now, whatever words Danya used to say it, this was what people would hear in the morning: that Salem had taken a girl who had never wronged him and whom he had no particular reason to dislike, and he'd gunned her down in cold blood. That he'd gotten nothing out of it but a number next to his name, and possibly a hint of satisfaction. That he'd done it just because he could, and he would do it again. This was the story that would be told.
"Actually, you know what- back up. C'mon, up against the wall." Salem waved the gun at Tim and Julia as though to shoo them along, then shot Tim a thin-lipped smile. "Unless you wanna be a hero? Do a little last stand routine, I can get down with that."
Exactly nil, to put a fine point on it, like every other promise of safety on the island. That was okay, though. Safety wasn't what Salem was after.
To continue battering a metaphor, some people were just front page material. A pretty young woman, for example. The kind of girl who would mainly be described as nice and smart, the kind of person who could light up a room. A girl with dreams, wholesome ones like becoming a doctor or teacher or vet. If she had a boyfriend, they'd be devoted to each other in a perfectly chaste way. If she went to church, it wouldn't be so often for anyone but hardline atheists to label her a religious weirdo.
That was the kind of girl who got hundreds of strangers searching when she disappeared and dozens or hundreds more at her funeral, because everyone knew how that eventually ended. They expected it, and they wanted it in some way. Living trauma was ugly, and however much they denied it, most people preferred pretty victims.
"You guys are a breath of fresh air, really. I saw Janice on the first day, right after she carved up- oh, what's her face," Salem said, half-hoping to make them flinch. "It was pretty gnarly, not gonna lie." Not that he'd actually seen the crime scene, in either case. Let the audience fill in the blanks.
He rolled his shoulders to loosen them further. "Hey, can I ask another favor?"
Without waiting for an answer, he repeated the motion and this time let its momentum travel down his arm, bringing the gun out of his pocket with a flourish. "Don't move."
Salem had crossed lines before, of course. He'd sent that particularly regrettable text, clicked that link that led to things he couldn't unsee, left things unsaid more often than not when he could have said them. This was just another one of those, the snowball kicked down a hill that immediately started rolling too fast to stop even if you wanted to.
Whatever happened now, whatever words Danya used to say it, this was what people would hear in the morning: that Salem had taken a girl who had never wronged him and whom he had no particular reason to dislike, and he'd gunned her down in cold blood. That he'd gotten nothing out of it but a number next to his name, and possibly a hint of satisfaction. That he'd done it just because he could, and he would do it again. This was the story that would be told.
"Actually, you know what- back up. C'mon, up against the wall." Salem waved the gun at Tim and Julia as though to shoo them along, then shot Tim a thin-lipped smile. "Unless you wanna be a hero? Do a little last stand routine, I can get down with that."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."