Survival Of The Fittest

In hindsight, it probably would've helped to have some idea where they were going first before setting out. 

((Shawn Bellamy continued from Alpha Mike Foxtrot))

Well, that wasn't entirely true. It wasn't long after they left the trapping camp that Shawn suggested that they seek somewhere with a little more elevation, have Fitz start scoping out the usual hotspots. It wasn't much of a plan, but short of Kitty winning another BKA it was their best shot at finding her.

So naturally, they found themselves up on the mountain pass. After picking out a rendezvous point it was decided that Fitz and Kaede would split off to scope out the eastern side of the island whilst Matt and Shawn made their way westwards, try to cover as much ground as possible. The plan of course was to try and regroup once one of them spotted Kitty, have either Shawn or Kaede seek the other group out to let them know. Long as nobody veered too far from the pass, it shouldn't be that difficult to find each other again.

Besides, it also gave Shawn a chance to have some alone time with Matt. After all, there were some minor details with this plan that needed ironing out, whilst Fitz and Kaede were still out of earshot.

"Hey, Matt..." he began, turning to his comrade in arms as they made their way through the unsteady mountain road. It was at that point that he noticed something off about his friend, as if something was weighing heavily on his shoulders. Shawn couldn't help but raise his brow in curiosity.

"Something on your mind?"

((Matthew Bell continued from Alpha Mike Foxtrot))

Matthew had been quiet as they travelled. Part of him expected Fitz to renege on their deal — he hadn't exactly seemed enthusiastic about the whole thing and despite how they'd reconciled in a sense, being held at mutual gunpoint wasn't exactly the best icebreaker. So, maybe he expected to hear a crack and feel a bullet passing through his back before he toppled over, dead or dying, but it wasn't just worry about having his back to someone with a sniper rifle who didn't like him. It was the other thoughts passing through his mind that gave Matthew worry.

They were down to what, thirty, forty people on this island out of around a hundred and twenty, thirty, forty that had stepped on that bus. Close to or at a hundred dead bodies on this island, half buried in the snow, rotting away in closed-off zones that would blow your collar up if you dared to look or fresh with the body barely cold and the former person having been alive for the morning announcements. And out of that number... well, a lot of them were killers, Matthew counted, or they were just going to be killed anyway by the frequent killers.

At what point could Matthew say that he wasn't playing the hero anymore and defending those who couldn't defend themselves because there was nobody innocent left to defend? At what point could he say 'fuck it', put all his cards on the table and go all in to see if he couldn't be that one out of thirty that made it home? Nobody was coming to save them. So as horrible as it was, maybe it was time to think about saving himself.

But then there was Shawn. If Matthew turned full player, started trying to make a real attempt at going home? Shawn'd have to die, and given how out of the friends that had come on the trip pretty much all of them were either dead or killers themselves, he didn't quite feel like turning around and gunning his only living and not murdering friend down for his own sake. He could think of one killer who had no qualms about murdering her loved ones, relatives, friends, anyone who got in her way.

Matthew didn't want to be like her. Someone who sacrificed their morals, their friends, everything for a chance to go home. When they clashed again, he wanted to be able to tell her with confidence that he was better than her. He hadn't sworn any oaths to protect and serve (not that there was much to serve on this island) but he liked to think that's what he was doing.

"I'm just..." Fixing his eyes on the road ahead, Matthew sighed. "We're down to thirty people alive, huh. Makes me wonder if, uh... if it's... if I could have a shot. At being the one who made his way outta here." Glancing towards Shawn, he looked down at those scuffed combat boots he tried to take such good care of, watching his breath turn to mist in the frigid atmosphere.

Shawn raised his brow. Now this was unexpected, though far from unwelcome. Perhaps it'll be easier for him to talk Matt into doing things his way than expected.

Of course, he said 'I' there instead of 'we', which was... Problematic. Much as he welcomed Matt giving up the Dirty Harry schtick he had going on, the last thing Shawn wanted was for him to start getting funny ideas. He needed to tread carefully here, avoid ending up with a bullet in his back when he least suspected it.

"Hmm. I mean.." Shawn began, clearing his throat. "Maybe. Already made it this far, right?"

Shawn stumbled slightly as they made their way through an uneven stretch of road, catching his balance at the last second before shrugging it off.

"I mean, individually, the odds are still stacked against us" he continued, watching his footing to prevent another unfortunate accident. Wouldn't want to give Danny another embarrassing death to moan about, right? 

"Together, though? Yeah... Yeah, I reckon we have a real shot at making it to the end of this thing."

Together. That was the issue here, wasn't it? They couldn't get out of here together, seven other attacks had made that very clear. There was only one person who could get out of here, and that was the issue. Matthew wasn't going to kill Shawn. Far from it. But, if the cards were down, and the only person standing in front of him was Shawn?

What do you do then? It'd be Shawn or Matthew, and Matthew knew which person he'd want to be the one stepping out of that showdown.

"Yeah, two people are better than one. I guess it's just like..." Emboldened by Shawn not immediately freaking out about the whole thing, Matthew glanced back up at him as he led the way. Taking it slow was probably the better path, given how treacherous this road was and how scornful Danya was of the many people who'd succumbed to the elements, nature or themselves. As shit as dying was, being made fun of by that son of a bitch for how he died would just be a real fucking embarassment.

"I don't wanna be like the guys I've been hunting, you know? I don't wanna just shoot and kill everyone I see without any justification for it. Like Katelyn, or Salem, or Josh, or... you know? I wanna tell myself that I'm not just some fucking nut with a gun shooting anyone who looks at me funny." It was good to be able to tell yourself that. Being moral was well, a morale booster. But what if it was ten guys left? Twenty? However many Danya needed to trigger the end of all this? When did the morals become a hinderance to living?

"See anything?" He'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

If he got to it.

"Hmmm, nothing yet..." Shawn replied, squinting his eyes as he quickly scanned the horizon. No kitties on the prowl, though there could be anything past the upcoming slope they were about to clamber over.

He also made sure to glance over his shoulder, checking to see if there was anyone sneaking up on them. And, perhaps more importantly, make sure that neither Fitz or Kaede were inconveniently within earshot.

"No, I... I getcha man, I really do..." he continued, slowly making his way up that unsteady incline. "Like... I didn't want to say this earlier, but..." he huffed, briefly distracted by a rock that felt a little too loose underfoot. "Sooner or later, we... We're gonna have to face the facts."

It was at that point that Shawn stopped, turning to face Matthew with a grave look in his eyes. 

"I mean, think about it... Beth and Corbs are gone. Most of our classmates already have blood on their hands... Whose there left to save?" he said, his shotgun hanging limply in his arms. "Like, you've done your best man, more than I think could be expected from anyone out here... But at this point, we gotta start putting ourselves first."

Shawn looked deeply into Matt's eyes, his expression deathly serious.

"We're the only decent people left on this island, Matt. Way I see it, as long as one of us survives this... I'd say that's a win, wouldn't you?"

Oh God, uphill walking. At least Shawn pausing to lay down the facts, or what sounded like facts, delayed them from having to walk up it a little longer.

It was pretty much what he'd just said, but hearing it from another person's mouth made Matthew feel better about it. Like, like he wasn't some asshole looking for a thin justification to kill people like a bunch of people on this island, that he'd tried his goddamn hardest and at the end, he couldn't fight the tide. Anyone here who was innocent had already died a few days ago or wasn't innocent anymore, and as much as Matthew wanted to see if there was anyone out there who could disprove that fact — well, there was Kaede, she hadn't done anything wrong that sorta put a dampener on that idea. But how long was she gonna be alive? They'd left her alone with Fitz who he still didn't entirely trust, and either way she had nothing. No guns, nothing but a machete against assault rifles and grenade launchers.

It made sense to start playing for keeps.

But it still felt so unmistakeably wrong.

"Yeah. I guess you're right. I just... guess I wished there was a way we could all have gotten outta here. Without all the murder and watching our friends either dying or turning into killers themselves." Quiet, Matthew resumed walking up the slope that he had dreaded so much.

In a way, he almost envied the people who had died of something stupid like frostbite or drowning. At least they could have died knowing none of their classmates had made the purposeful choice to kill them, the same choice he felt like he both could and couldn't do.

((Valentin Shulgin continues from 28 Ghosts IV))

They had made a mistake.

Valentin felt it on his shoulder, every time his bag swung freely, weightless, next to empty. He had realized the severity of their situation an hour or so ago, reached into his parcel and discovered his portions had been whittled down to five crackers, no loaves of bread, one ration bar, and one bottle of water. Alexander was in similar dire straits.

Kelsey, the girl with the Cheshire grin mask, had offered help to them apropos of nothing, yet he had let baseless paranoia drive themselves away from her. Their options were much fewer now, as a result. They were at the mercy of whoever they ran into next.

The several days the two had spent isolated from the rest of the island had insulated Valentin from the reality of their ill-preparedness. He had some sort of metal chain, Alexander had a knife. The plans they had formulated all those days ago had been made in the reality of a week ago, when there were still plenty of minds to reach. The time to strike had been then, and they had missed it. Though they marched to the mining town, in the ever-present hopes of finding an ally, doubts could not help but nag at Valentin. Who would there be to recruit now? Who would view their path as superior to the path of violence now, now that everyone had been exposed to it? Who would there even be to ask for help?

He had nursed Alexander back to some degree of health, yes, but for how long?

Over the crest, two men approached them. One of whom was Shawn Bellamy, a braggart before, the town know-it-all then. What was he now? How did he plan to wield the shotgun at his side?

The other was Matthew Bell. Quarterback, aspired to be a soldier.

Three-time murderer.

Blew Karin Han's brains out, the day before.

Shakily, almost unwillingly, he raised a hand in greeting.

Alexander, earlier that day, had swallowed his doubts.

Now, it seemed, his doubts had begun to swallow him.

S061: ALEXANDER HAWTHORNE — CONTINUED FROM "28 Ghosts IV"

He scowled, face twisted up in consternation, turning the hands on the clock back in his mind. Again and again, watching as the minutes ticked by, listening for the toll of the bells. His head swam, drowning in an ocean of his mistakes and misgivings, thudding pain like tectonic motion all concentrated right in his cranium. But still, he stood, he stepped—

—he stopped.

Valentin raised his hand; Alexander clasped the knife.

He said nothing. Every time, thus far, that he had spoken, his words had done nothing to bridge the gap—only to drive the wedge. And, knowing that the last time he had listened to it, it had misled him, he did not heed the cry of his head: "run!" Instead, he swallowed again, tried to shove down the nagging feeling, the fear that welled up inside of his chest.

"I know, man. Believe me, I wish there was another way..."

There was a genuine sincerity to that last statement, compared to the words that usually exited Shawn's mouth. After all, if there was an easy way off the island that didn't involve condemning the rest of his ex-clsssmates... Well, yeah, of course he would take that option. Who the hell wouldn't?

But, that wasn't the world he lived in. There weren't going to be any fairytale endings to this story, no magic buttons that'll fix everything. And the risks that came with seeking out a third option were far too great. Only one of them was destined to survive this island. Them's were the breaks.

Shawn was about to say something else, when he turned his head up to discover that they weren't alone anymore.

Two figures, standing at the top of that slope directly ahead of them. Valentin he recognised all too well from history class, one of those guys who always sounded a little too enthusiastic whenever they spoke about their favorite violent revolutions. And Alexander, a guy whom Shawn primarily identified as "That lanky fuck". Neither of them were Kitty, nor were they on his or Matt's shit list.

Seeing that raised hand, Shawn simply blinked and responded with a quiet wave.

There was another way; well, two. One was to accept you weren't making it off of this island, take your gun and swallow a fresh bullet cocktail. Understandably, he wasn't too keen on that idea. The other was trying to outsmart Danya and escape, but how the hell would they do that and if so, where would they go? Were they gonna do an Ingrid and swim off the damn island? Would Danya graciously accept his loss and charter them out on a boat made of diamonds and 24 carat gold? No. Even if they could get these damn things chafing into his neck off, Matthew only thought that'd be the start of their troubles.

So there was that option. To kill. As much as it made sense, the thought felt like a poison in his brain. Only half listening to Shawn, he turned his head to follow his, wondering why his friend had stopped talking. There, at the top of the slope, stood two guys: the Russian one, that guy who fled because he was a deep thinker and they couldn't have that or some shit, and, uh... Alex? Alexander? Something along those lines. Alex/lander looked kinda fucked up. Maybe they'd gotten into a fight with someone.

"Hey! You guys doing OK?" Matthew raised a hand back, glad to see something that could be a distraction from his thoughts that almost intensified at the sight of two relatively unarmed people. "Your friend, uh, looks a little fucked up. No offense."

"None taken," Valentin replied, lying.

He did not appreciate his friend's appearance being denigrated but also, it was true. And also, what it meant was that, beyond a doubt, his friend's vulnerable condition was on display for all to see, both for prey and predator. Nothing to hide, for better or worse.

So what if they were predators? What was to be done?

A glancing look at the environment around them revealed no possible path of escape. The mountainside rose steeply on one side, dropped sharply on the other, neither paths allowing for a quick retreat. As for going back the way they came, the path was open, but even if they both were of perfect health, they would not be able to outrun a bullet.

In essence, the only way out was through.

The only hope they really had was for them not to be predators at all. Some variable, some string of fate unknown to him and Alexander.

Shawn and Matthew acted the part, at least, some degree of informality and conviviality present in Matthew's tone. He figured he might as well reciprocate it, hope the friendliness smoothed any potential kinks in their interaction over. Treat everyone like friends, that was what Valentin decided. If they were friends, they would live, and if not, then it was beyond them. That was the playbook Valentin knew, the only playbook he'd ever known, and he would continue to live by it.

"The island has not treated him well, yes," he further elaborated to the two. "And we are running low on supplies."

A gulp.

"Would either of you have a spare ration bar, or medical supplies, or a bottle of water, even? Anything would help, anything you can spare."

Alexander's brow twitched at the assessment of him; while not, by the strictest definition, untrue, per se, it grated on him. He did not relish the prying eyes of others, and the fact that his condition, wretched as it now was, was on display to them made him feel almost naked in his suffering. It was one more blow to his pride, another notched wound across his ego.

"That is one way to put it," he said, wearing a grimace. Was it too much to be allowed to have his dignity left intact? His eyes drifted down to his shoes, and he tried to still the unease as it beat, beat, beat in his chest, swallowed down the doubts again. They tasted like bile in his throat. His teeth clenched up. It was for the best, he reasoned, that he not speak.

Alexander would not beg them himself; of that, he was sure. And though he hated the thought of Valentin doing so, he knew it was the better option. Unlike him, his friend could hold his tongue; he would sooner bite it. And, as had been demonstrated many times before, such lashing out had done little to advance his agenda, only the turn others against him.

Nonetheless, though he did not protest this course of action outright, the doubts continued to rise in his throat, stinging and burning like acid. He was unsure what it was—perhaps the way their gazes drifted as his eyes turned to confront theirs, how their mouths curled downwards in thought, or their posture shifted ever-so-slightly—but it left him deeply unsettled.

But he did not listen to his head; he listened to his heart. And his heart said to hope—to hope against hope.

"Yeah, we've got spares. Uh, Shawn, you wanna give 'em some of your stuff or will I do it?" Matthew glanced over at his partner in crime. Admittedly, he didn't really want to be giving any of their shit up, but at this point, they already had enough food and water to keep them going until the end. Didn't really matter who gave their supplies up; he was sure Katelyn or Jezzie had a whole cornucopia of shit in their bags just waiting for the lucky one who kiled them. Once Matthew and Shawn brought them down, there'd be enough for seconds every day.

Although, in Matthew's glance at Shawn, was also a pointed question.

Them?

If... well, Alexander was kinda fucked up. They didn't have great weapons. Valentin and Alexander, they were just sitting ducks for the murderers of this island to stumble upon. Sure, they were innocent. They hadn't done anything wrong, well, maybe except whatever the fuck happened to get one of the guys in front of them all fucked up and both of them resorting to begging for food like some Boston bum. Honestly in and of itself that was kinda ballsy, to walk up to a three-time killer and say, 'yo, you got some food?' Kudos.

The question wasn't just to Shawn, though.

This was pretty much as close to 'nutcase with a gun shooting anyone who looks at him funny' as he could get.

Could he look Valentin and Alexander in the eyes, knowing they weren't a threat to him or anybody on this island, and pull the trigger? Jack had been justified, Ren was justified but in hindsight he should have went for Katelyn and Kai first and Karin was... well, that was merciful. Didn't matter who it was, what they'd done. If you were in that situation, a bullet was a mercy.

Shawn didn't say a word as he turned to Matt, but his eyes spoke louder than a gunshot: He wasn't willing to give a damn thing to these freeloaders.

Valentin and Alexander struck Shawn as a pair who had mostly lucked their way up to this point. Whether it was down to a confrontation gone wrong, or just badly rationing their resources, one way or another they had played poorly and now found themselves begging for scraps. He never cared much for charity himself. Way he saw it, if you end up relying on handouts to survive, then you only have yourself to blame. Why should he reward others for their own incompetence?

Besides, giving them what they needed was counterintuitive. The game was only going to end one way, and he had no interest in prolonging it. To Shawn, the answer to their predicament was obvious.

When Matt silently asked him that question, Shawn's response was a knowing look and a subtle nod. Yes. Them.

"Sure, yeah..." he stated, gesturing his head towards Alexander. "See to Alex, I'll check if I've any spare grub."

He slowly made his way up that hill towards the two, keeping an eye out in case either of them drew a weapon. They didn't appear armed, Alexander in particular looking in no fit shape to fight. Once they got close enough that accuracy was a non-issue, there was little they would be able to do to defend themselves. Shawn and Matt had complete control over the situation, just the way he liked it.

Of course, bluntly taking them out was a worst case scenario. Doing that would complicate their already fragile alliance with Fitz, not to mention waste precious ammunition. No, the ideal course of action would be to take what little they have left and force them to make tracks, let mother nature finish the job.

Granted, there wasn't any way of communicating that clearly to Matt. He just had to hope that he'd read between the lines and follow his lead when the time came to act.

"So, uh..." Shawn began as they approached, slowly walking around Valentin so that he was forced to turn his back on Alexander, the shotgun resting easily in his arms. "Don't suppose you've anything worth trading? Not running a charity here..."

It was an unreasonable thing to suggest, and he was well aware of that. But it'd hopefully be enough to keep Valentin distracted as Matt readied himself.

Valentin turned to face Shawn, habit and politeness dictating he face his conversant. He only realized, after the fact, that Alexander had slipped out of his field of vision. And, though he was far from the edge of the path, an acute bout of vertigo overcame him.

When one learns how to drive, they are taught to keep their eyes on the road. But, they are also taught to look at the speedometer, to look at the gas meter, to check the side mirrors, rearview mirror, blind spots. But, for a new driver especially, there is always a bit of anxiety that comes with this. What if, in the second or two you look away from the road, some interloping danger enters your path? What if, in the second or two you look away, your life ends?

Alexander had been gone for so, so long, and this fleeting moment would be the first in days that he'd leave him unattended. And in the company of another too.

And, Valentin had noticed their look at each other. They had an understanding. An optimist might simply assume they were deciding who would donate, who would be the one to initiate the deal. Valentin was not sure if he could describe himself as an optimist any longer.

But, he had to be brave about this. He had to see this through. There were no options left, no other path but forward. Press forward into the jaws of the beast.

Shawn asked for something of Valentin's in return and, there was little that he had that Shawn probably didn't have. Only one thing of value, in fact.

Not like he'd ever use it.

"I have this chain whip, if you'd like."

He zipped open his half-empty bag, began to pull it out.