((Marshall West continued from Reefer Sadness.))
Marshall had timed his departure poorly. The weed had ended up making him sleepy enough to take a nap, so once he was ready to go it was night time.
On the other hand, he’d figured that everyone would be more still at night. Maybe he stood a better chance at finding Evie if he traveled by night.
Problem. It was hard to see at night. Obviously.
But he’d kept walking anyway, because otherwise he’d just turn around and go back to Kai and California, and he didn’t think he could bring himself to leave them a second time.
The horizon was starting to get lighter, but the sun hadn’t risen quite yet. Announcement time wouldn’t be long.
Marshall kept climbing, regularly flicking the flashlight from the path in front to the rockier ground beneath his feet, to make sure he wasn’t about to twist an ankle and add a useless foot to his useless hand. The revolver was loaded and in his bag, able to be reached quickly. Poor gun safety, but he couldn’t load it fast. It was this or sticking it in his pants, and that was an even worse idea.
Up, up, up, until…
His feet reached a plateau, and he saw the warm waters beyond.
Hot springs.
Marshall might have cried from how beautiful the sight was, or from how warm it was on this plateau.
He stopped by the water’s edge and squatted down, then up again, stretching his legs while eyeing the water and wondering if he had time. Depended on how long until sunrise. This was the highest point left on the island to look for any signs of others. No point leaving until then.
After a few more squats, he sighed and remained crouched before wiping his eyes. Turned out there was no ‘might’ about it.
Color In Your Cheeks
Day 11, just before announcement. PM for entry because of reasons.
-
ViolentMedic
- Posts: 1411
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
((June Madison continues from I just can't help myself))
Tired steps, staggered then rushed then staggered again, followed.
She had not sought him out. What she was looking for, instead, was the hot springs. She looked for it the same way she used to look forward to a nice, hot bath in her home, bath bomb and Epsom salt already prepared by the side. Just some minor, inconsequential treat to alleviate the long, long hours of the preceding day.
She wouldn't be able to actually swim in these waters though. Some part of her worried about microbes burrowing into her multiple wounds, if she allowed her injured arm to be submerged. It was a darkly funny possibility to consider, actually, the thought of her evading all her murderous classmates and all the danger zones and all the natural hazards of this island, only to die from tetanus or flesh-eating bacteria.
But still, she sought out the springs and the warm, humid air that surrounded it. She journeyed for it past sunset and through the night and towards the coming sunrise, reliant on a map lit by flashlight, because this was all she had to look forward to.
She noticed the other person's flashlight about ten or so minutes ago, and she flicked her light off, and she followed. She didn't know whose flashlight she was pursuing, only that it was someone's. And, the person she pursued might be one of the many who'd come up on the announcements time and time again, someone who would kill her the first chance they got.
But, then again, she'd die without anyone anyways, so what was the difference?
So, a couple minutes after he arrived, June flicked on her flashlight again, shone it at him. A few seconds passed, as her eyes adjusted to the harsh light. A few more, to match the face to a name. And then, she knew she'd found the right person.
"Marshall, right?" she asked him.
Tired steps, staggered then rushed then staggered again, followed.
She had not sought him out. What she was looking for, instead, was the hot springs. She looked for it the same way she used to look forward to a nice, hot bath in her home, bath bomb and Epsom salt already prepared by the side. Just some minor, inconsequential treat to alleviate the long, long hours of the preceding day.
She wouldn't be able to actually swim in these waters though. Some part of her worried about microbes burrowing into her multiple wounds, if she allowed her injured arm to be submerged. It was a darkly funny possibility to consider, actually, the thought of her evading all her murderous classmates and all the danger zones and all the natural hazards of this island, only to die from tetanus or flesh-eating bacteria.
But still, she sought out the springs and the warm, humid air that surrounded it. She journeyed for it past sunset and through the night and towards the coming sunrise, reliant on a map lit by flashlight, because this was all she had to look forward to.
She noticed the other person's flashlight about ten or so minutes ago, and she flicked her light off, and she followed. She didn't know whose flashlight she was pursuing, only that it was someone's. And, the person she pursued might be one of the many who'd come up on the announcements time and time again, someone who would kill her the first chance they got.
But, then again, she'd die without anyone anyways, so what was the difference?
So, a couple minutes after he arrived, June flicked on her flashlight again, shone it at him. A few seconds passed, as her eyes adjusted to the harsh light. A few more, to match the face to a name. And then, she knew she'd found the right person.
"Marshall, right?" she asked him.
-
ViolentMedic
- Posts: 1411
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
A light flickered on from behind. Marshall straightened up quickly and shone his flashlight right back, squinting and raising his bandaged hand to block the worst of the light. After a moment, during which he could at least tell it wasn’t Evie, he lowered the light a little so as to not blind her.
His memory, normally sharp, stuttered before coming up with a name. Over the last ten days, he’d been straining his mind whenever a name came up on the announcement, trying to remember what he could about each person. Now he was face to face with one, and found that his memory was running out of fuel.
“Yes. I am Marshall West,” he said, a little slower than necessary, dragging it out for time as it finally clicked. “Ah, right. You’re June Madison.” He smiled faintly as he lowered his hand from blocking out the light. “You always did top-notch English work.”
June hadn’t been mentioned on the announcements yet. That meant she was probably safe.
“In the interest of transparency, I am armed but have no intent to shoot. Are you… are you here to use the springs? I was here looking for Evie McKown, if you’ve seen her.”
His memory, normally sharp, stuttered before coming up with a name. Over the last ten days, he’d been straining his mind whenever a name came up on the announcement, trying to remember what he could about each person. Now he was face to face with one, and found that his memory was running out of fuel.
“Yes. I am Marshall West,” he said, a little slower than necessary, dragging it out for time as it finally clicked. “Ah, right. You’re June Madison.” He smiled faintly as he lowered his hand from blocking out the light. “You always did top-notch English work.”
June hadn’t been mentioned on the announcements yet. That meant she was probably safe.
“In the interest of transparency, I am armed but have no intent to shoot. Are you… are you here to use the springs? I was here looking for Evie McKown, if you’ve seen her.”
June smiled at the mention of her essays, caught off-guard. He wasn't wrong, she really did like writing essays in Ms. Ruby's class. It made her blush, actually, being seen in that way. But people didn't generally recognize her for that, more for her family's restaurant, their legacy, rather than her own. It felt sort of like if someone went up to Mark Zuckerberg as an admirer of his MMA career, rather than his work in the tech field.
It made her feel all the more guilty that her first thought at seeing him was 'neurotic.' Because, that was what a lot of people saw her as too, and yet she judged him the same way they judged her.
Other details that bubbled up as she thought longer on Marshall were that he liked bodybuilding and was in the student council. And that was all she could think of, really.
She knew of Marshall West, but she did not know him. Same as it was for many of her other classmates. June had always considered herself fairly social, a normal amount of social, but, when she thought about it, she didn't really have all that many friends. There was her family, and Clover and Peyton and Laci and Savanna and Eric, who weren't here, K and Medea, who were dead now, and then what? She had classmates, sure, but so did everyone. And it was hard to think of them as much more than that when, for the preceding year, you only saw them as occasional faces on the sidebar of a Zoom class, and only when their cameras were turned on too, which was sparingly.
What all of this translated to was, all the names that had been drolly recited out on the announcements were largely just names to her, and with Dick and Darryl dead, the overwhelming feeling was that she was alone in a forest, surrounded by wolves. So, though Marshall was but a name to her, it was him, or Lillian, or no one.
So, better late than never to start forming new connections. She owed it to Dick and Darryl and Medea, at least, to try.
"Not armed too," she said, raising her working arm, the other immobile in its sling.
"Haven't seen Evie either, sorry," she said, answering the next easiest question.
And then, what was she here for? Why was she talking to him?
Deep breath.
"I don't think I can take a dip," she said, gesturing at her broken arm. "But, Dick... uh, Dick said I should see you. 'Good as any, not here for himself,' that's what he said about you. Said you had a plan of some sort, I think. Or that you'd be good to plan with, at least."
It made her feel all the more guilty that her first thought at seeing him was 'neurotic.' Because, that was what a lot of people saw her as too, and yet she judged him the same way they judged her.
Other details that bubbled up as she thought longer on Marshall were that he liked bodybuilding and was in the student council. And that was all she could think of, really.
She knew of Marshall West, but she did not know him. Same as it was for many of her other classmates. June had always considered herself fairly social, a normal amount of social, but, when she thought about it, she didn't really have all that many friends. There was her family, and Clover and Peyton and Laci and Savanna and Eric, who weren't here, K and Medea, who were dead now, and then what? She had classmates, sure, but so did everyone. And it was hard to think of them as much more than that when, for the preceding year, you only saw them as occasional faces on the sidebar of a Zoom class, and only when their cameras were turned on too, which was sparingly.
What all of this translated to was, all the names that had been drolly recited out on the announcements were largely just names to her, and with Dick and Darryl dead, the overwhelming feeling was that she was alone in a forest, surrounded by wolves. So, though Marshall was but a name to her, it was him, or Lillian, or no one.
So, better late than never to start forming new connections. She owed it to Dick and Darryl and Medea, at least, to try.
"Not armed too," she said, raising her working arm, the other immobile in its sling.
"Haven't seen Evie either, sorry," she said, answering the next easiest question.
And then, what was she here for? Why was she talking to him?
Deep breath.
"I don't think I can take a dip," she said, gesturing at her broken arm. "But, Dick... uh, Dick said I should see you. 'Good as any, not here for himself,' that's what he said about you. Said you had a plan of some sort, I think. Or that you'd be good to plan with, at least."
-
ViolentMedic
- Posts: 1411
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
Oh. Right.
Marshall winced at her broken arm, then looked down at his hand. That meant he shouldn’t be taking a dip either, probably. Wouldn’t want to make the bandages all soggy. Would just dipping his feet hurt?
“Richard said that about me?”
Marshall’s eyes started watering again. That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said about him. He wondered if Richard had said it before or after Chloé’s death. He blinked a few times, looking downwards.
“I try to be. I did have plans. To gather everyone at a safehouse, no matter what they’d done, and work together to think of a way out.”
Marshall lifted his hand, tilting so that June could see the misshapen edges that didn’t leave enough room for full fingers. He could feel his heartbeat throbbing unpleasantly through the little stumps.
“Turned out that no-one wanted to listen once they already had a gun in their hand. And the safehouse… we got so absorbed in gathering people that we didn’t ever get around to making it safe enough to justify the name.”
He lowered his hand and looked away, instead staring off the nearby cliffside.
“I guess I’m trying to say... that I gave up.”
Shame made his face go bright red. All this time, he’d avoided finding the others because he’d been too ashamed for being unable to prevent Chloé’s death. ‘Good as any,’ Richard said. But if that was true, Marshall wouldn’t have given up at all.
“But if there’s a plan out there still to follow...” Marshall looked back at June, his eyes still shiny from being perpetually near tears. “Did Richard come up with a plan? Is he with you? I know he shot Iris… but that had to have been a mistake, right?”
Marshall winced at her broken arm, then looked down at his hand. That meant he shouldn’t be taking a dip either, probably. Wouldn’t want to make the bandages all soggy. Would just dipping his feet hurt?
“Richard said that about me?”
Marshall’s eyes started watering again. That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said about him. He wondered if Richard had said it before or after Chloé’s death. He blinked a few times, looking downwards.
“I try to be. I did have plans. To gather everyone at a safehouse, no matter what they’d done, and work together to think of a way out.”
Marshall lifted his hand, tilting so that June could see the misshapen edges that didn’t leave enough room for full fingers. He could feel his heartbeat throbbing unpleasantly through the little stumps.
“Turned out that no-one wanted to listen once they already had a gun in their hand. And the safehouse… we got so absorbed in gathering people that we didn’t ever get around to making it safe enough to justify the name.”
He lowered his hand and looked away, instead staring off the nearby cliffside.
“I guess I’m trying to say... that I gave up.”
Shame made his face go bright red. All this time, he’d avoided finding the others because he’d been too ashamed for being unable to prevent Chloé’s death. ‘Good as any,’ Richard said. But if that was true, Marshall wouldn’t have given up at all.
“But if there’s a plan out there still to follow...” Marshall looked back at June, his eyes still shiny from being perpetually near tears. “Did Richard come up with a plan? Is he with you? I know he shot Iris… but that had to have been a mistake, right?”
June involuntarily sucked in air through her teeth, seeing the stumps, felt sympathetic pain. It was refreshing, in a sick way, to feel that. Everything about yesterday, about the incident with her wounds, gave her an overwhelming, nausea-inducing sense of regret, but at the same time, the world was sharper, colored where her flashlight lit it. She imagined herself dipping in the pool, imagined the penetrating sting her wounds would felt, and she winced, and it was more than all of yesterday. Things felt again now.
Marshall continued on about what he had planned, past tense, and June lowered her head. He asked his questions, and her throat clogged up. He had such faith in them, all misplaced. Like, he was imagining Dick would show up right behind her, lay out all his plans as homecoming king, save the city. She wished that was how things turned out.
But, they seemed to be close, he and Dick. She owed him answers, some form of closure at least.
"The plan was- was you, Marshall. You and Lillian."
She gulped.
"We were thinking of, like, either escaping, or player hunting, or something, but whatever we did, he wanted to do it with you. Same principle as you: get some heads together, think up something good, next step would come later."
Her jaw clenched, June focusing on making the molars of her teeth meet, procrastinating.
The last time she'd made any admission of guilt, Iris had pushed her down the stairs. She was no longer as faithful in the power of apologies as Medea would have preferred. Marshall seemed to carry a lot of his own guilt but also, he might hate her, she thought, if she said everything. What if history repeated itself?
But, all the terrorists had to say about that matter, all Marshall had to go off of, was that Dick fired a quick shot at Iris. Active tense, full presumption of guilt. Dick didn't deserve that.
"And, Iris' death was a mistake, yes. She- she came back in the middle of the night, I woke up and screamed and panicked, Dick thought she was an intruder, fired a bullet, and- yeah. Yeah. That's how it happened. He didn't mean it, none of us meant it."
She considered justifying why she panicked so much, going into all the hurt they'd dealt each other, but she didn't want to relive it right now. He wasn't asking, so she didn't owe him any of that.
Next question. Hardest part.
Sharp inhale. She pinched her other arm, bounced her leg. Looked at the ground.
"Dick's dead now, by the way. Darryl too. Kitty exploded them."
Exhale, long, shuddered.
Still looking at the ground.
"I'm sorry I don't have better news for you."
Marshall continued on about what he had planned, past tense, and June lowered her head. He asked his questions, and her throat clogged up. He had such faith in them, all misplaced. Like, he was imagining Dick would show up right behind her, lay out all his plans as homecoming king, save the city. She wished that was how things turned out.
But, they seemed to be close, he and Dick. She owed him answers, some form of closure at least.
"The plan was- was you, Marshall. You and Lillian."
She gulped.
"We were thinking of, like, either escaping, or player hunting, or something, but whatever we did, he wanted to do it with you. Same principle as you: get some heads together, think up something good, next step would come later."
Her jaw clenched, June focusing on making the molars of her teeth meet, procrastinating.
The last time she'd made any admission of guilt, Iris had pushed her down the stairs. She was no longer as faithful in the power of apologies as Medea would have preferred. Marshall seemed to carry a lot of his own guilt but also, he might hate her, she thought, if she said everything. What if history repeated itself?
But, all the terrorists had to say about that matter, all Marshall had to go off of, was that Dick fired a quick shot at Iris. Active tense, full presumption of guilt. Dick didn't deserve that.
"And, Iris' death was a mistake, yes. She- she came back in the middle of the night, I woke up and screamed and panicked, Dick thought she was an intruder, fired a bullet, and- yeah. Yeah. That's how it happened. He didn't mean it, none of us meant it."
She considered justifying why she panicked so much, going into all the hurt they'd dealt each other, but she didn't want to relive it right now. He wasn't asking, so she didn't owe him any of that.
Next question. Hardest part.
Sharp inhale. She pinched her other arm, bounced her leg. Looked at the ground.
"Dick's dead now, by the way. Darryl too. Kitty exploded them."
Exhale, long, shuddered.
Still looking at the ground.
"I'm sorry I don't have better news for you."
-
ViolentMedic
- Posts: 1411
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
That little flare of optimism, crushed as soon as it sprouted. Richard and Darryl, both dead at Kitty’s hand.
“...Dammit.”
A little further up the mountain, DeMarcus had referred to killing Dominiqua like it was an equation. So many deaths had happened that it was starting to feel that way. Like getting a math exam back and finding it covered in red marker, lining out all the places where he'd done his math wrong. He could have looked for them after Chloe's death. He could have stayed with them when they'd met. He could have helped Kai steal from Kitty and gotten that grenade launcher off her somehow. Could have would have could have would have--
Marshall shook his head, good hand clenching. Shoulders tensing up as he turned left and right, like he was trying to figure out a direction to go in, but his feet shuffled aimlessly instead. He blinked a few times, looking at June then looking at the ground again, shifting, moving, until--
“Dammit dammit DAMMIT DAMMIT FUCKING GODDAMMIT!” he bellowed.
It echoed down the mountain, so loudly that part of him awaited an avalanche. But no such noise followed, and instead Marshall crouched again, putting his hands on his head as he inhaled and held it to stop himself from screaming again.
A moment passed. He let the breath out.
“...sorry,” he muttered, eyes on the ground.
June’s test had red marker scrawled across it too, drawing clear conclusions as to where she'd gone wrong. Screaming at the wrong time had killed Iris. Like Jacob, floating in the frozen lake because Marshall had shouted the wrong words at him.
“I’m not… I’m not screaming at you. I think we’ve all made mistakes at this point.”
“...Dammit.”
A little further up the mountain, DeMarcus had referred to killing Dominiqua like it was an equation. So many deaths had happened that it was starting to feel that way. Like getting a math exam back and finding it covered in red marker, lining out all the places where he'd done his math wrong. He could have looked for them after Chloe's death. He could have stayed with them when they'd met. He could have helped Kai steal from Kitty and gotten that grenade launcher off her somehow. Could have would have could have would have--
Marshall shook his head, good hand clenching. Shoulders tensing up as he turned left and right, like he was trying to figure out a direction to go in, but his feet shuffled aimlessly instead. He blinked a few times, looking at June then looking at the ground again, shifting, moving, until--
“Dammit dammit DAMMIT DAMMIT FUCKING GODDAMMIT!” he bellowed.
It echoed down the mountain, so loudly that part of him awaited an avalanche. But no such noise followed, and instead Marshall crouched again, putting his hands on his head as he inhaled and held it to stop himself from screaming again.
A moment passed. He let the breath out.
“...sorry,” he muttered, eyes on the ground.
June’s test had red marker scrawled across it too, drawing clear conclusions as to where she'd gone wrong. Screaming at the wrong time had killed Iris. Like Jacob, floating in the frozen lake because Marshall had shouted the wrong words at him.
“I’m not… I’m not screaming at you. I think we’ve all made mistakes at this point.”
She flinched at his voice raising up, took a step back. She felt slapped in the face, she felt frozen in place, all her muscles locked rigid. Marshall hated her, he hated her, they all hated her. He was gonna push her off a cliff like how Iris pushed her, like how she pushed Iris, and then she would die, and she would deserve it, she would die in pain and alone because they all hated her.
It took a few seconds until after he finished speaking for her to realize he'd apologized. It was too late by then, the tension in her shoulders turned into this shaking, and she started gasping for air, tears and snot dripping down her face.
"I— I— I didn't mean it," she sobbed, fully knowing how little those words had meant to Iris, how no one believed her anymore when she said it. "Th—they told me to go, they barely had any weapons, Darryl made this, this last stand against Kitty, and Dick could— he couldn't leave him and— if I died they would've died for nothing I couldn't die I had to go, I had to," and then she couldn't say any more, and the rest of her words turned to sobs as she hid her face behind her arm.
For another minute, she stayed like this, shoulders hunched over, balled fist wiping at her face. Eventually, her breathing calmed down enough that she could speak.
She said, from behind her arm, quietly, "I'll just- I'll just go if you don't want me. You don't have to lie to me. Just tell me and I can go."
It took a few seconds until after he finished speaking for her to realize he'd apologized. It was too late by then, the tension in her shoulders turned into this shaking, and she started gasping for air, tears and snot dripping down her face.
"I— I— I didn't mean it," she sobbed, fully knowing how little those words had meant to Iris, how no one believed her anymore when she said it. "Th—they told me to go, they barely had any weapons, Darryl made this, this last stand against Kitty, and Dick could— he couldn't leave him and— if I died they would've died for nothing I couldn't die I had to go, I had to," and then she couldn't say any more, and the rest of her words turned to sobs as she hid her face behind her arm.
For another minute, she stayed like this, shoulders hunched over, balled fist wiping at her face. Eventually, her breathing calmed down enough that she could speak.
She said, from behind her arm, quietly, "I'll just- I'll just go if you don't want me. You don't have to lie to me. Just tell me and I can go."
-
ViolentMedic
- Posts: 1411
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
“No. Nonono, I’m not… I...”
He fumbled with his words, taking a few quick steps towards June before stopping. That antsy jig was back in his feet, more fretful than angry this time.
Realistically, he couldn’t let her follow him. Because he knew chasing Evie was stupid and it wasn’t June’s mess to clean up. It sounded like Richard and Darryl had died protecting her. It’d be messed up of him to ruin that by dragging her along.
But he at least had to keep her here long enough to know that his screaming truly wasn’t her fault. Otherwise she might do something drastic. There was no frozen lake nearby for her to sink into, but there were cliffs to fall off and water to drown in. He’d killed Jacob. He couldn’t kill June, too.
After his jittery hesitation, trying to assemble his words into something cohesive so he said the right thing (because it was so, SO important he say the right thing for once in his life) he walked forward again. A little slower this time, before he stopped in front of her and awkwardly plopped his hand on her head.
“I’m not a good liar.”
He shifted down slightly to try and get back in her field of vision despite her hunching. It helped that she was half a foot taller than him.
“Richard and Darryl aren’t your fault. If they told you to go, then it’s a good thing you did. I’m not mad at you for it. I’m just mad at...”
He struggled for words, then eventually sighed.
“I'm just mad."
He fumbled with his words, taking a few quick steps towards June before stopping. That antsy jig was back in his feet, more fretful than angry this time.
Realistically, he couldn’t let her follow him. Because he knew chasing Evie was stupid and it wasn’t June’s mess to clean up. It sounded like Richard and Darryl had died protecting her. It’d be messed up of him to ruin that by dragging her along.
But he at least had to keep her here long enough to know that his screaming truly wasn’t her fault. Otherwise she might do something drastic. There was no frozen lake nearby for her to sink into, but there were cliffs to fall off and water to drown in. He’d killed Jacob. He couldn’t kill June, too.
After his jittery hesitation, trying to assemble his words into something cohesive so he said the right thing (because it was so, SO important he say the right thing for once in his life) he walked forward again. A little slower this time, before he stopped in front of her and awkwardly plopped his hand on her head.
“I’m not a good liar.”
He shifted down slightly to try and get back in her field of vision despite her hunching. It helped that she was half a foot taller than him.
“Richard and Darryl aren’t your fault. If they told you to go, then it’s a good thing you did. I’m not mad at you for it. I’m just mad at...”
He struggled for words, then eventually sighed.
“I'm just mad."
Inexplicably, June laughed.
She couldn't put a name as to why. Even on good days, her emotions were an amorphous blob informed by current events both personal and external, notions of imagined arguments, and memories from long ago, some murky soup of indecipherable ingredients.
It was Marshall saying 'I'm just mad.' The fact that he, too, seemed to be drowning in the same soup as her.
It was the way he plopped his hand on her head, hesitatingly, like someone attempting to pet a dog with a penchant for biting, or like an alien making his first attempt at human touch.
It was that he, a man she had at least six inches on, put his hand on her head at all.
It was that the panic of a minute ago was just that, a panic, and that he wasn't mad at her. That things didn't always turn out the worst possible way, that Murphy's law had some exceptions.
In any case, she laughed, and then she stopped because he had just confessed something important, and she had laughed at that.
Her smile faded, she stepped back from his hand and wiped away the last of her tears.
"I'm sorry, it's just been a long... week. It's been a long week. I'm sorry about the hand, I'm sorry about Dick and Darryl, I'm sorry about all"—she gestured with her working hand all around them, ending at herself—"this. I..."
Her eyes drifted to the hot springs.
"I know you said you didn't have any plans, but I, I just want some company for a while, if that's fine? If I'm not keeping you from anything, that is."
She couldn't put a name as to why. Even on good days, her emotions were an amorphous blob informed by current events both personal and external, notions of imagined arguments, and memories from long ago, some murky soup of indecipherable ingredients.
It was Marshall saying 'I'm just mad.' The fact that he, too, seemed to be drowning in the same soup as her.
It was the way he plopped his hand on her head, hesitatingly, like someone attempting to pet a dog with a penchant for biting, or like an alien making his first attempt at human touch.
It was that he, a man she had at least six inches on, put his hand on her head at all.
It was that the panic of a minute ago was just that, a panic, and that he wasn't mad at her. That things didn't always turn out the worst possible way, that Murphy's law had some exceptions.
In any case, she laughed, and then she stopped because he had just confessed something important, and she had laughed at that.
Her smile faded, she stepped back from his hand and wiped away the last of her tears.
"I'm sorry, it's just been a long... week. It's been a long week. I'm sorry about the hand, I'm sorry about Dick and Darryl, I'm sorry about all"—she gestured with her working hand all around them, ending at herself—"this. I..."
Her eyes drifted to the hot springs.
"I know you said you didn't have any plans, but I, I just want some company for a while, if that's fine? If I'm not keeping you from anything, that is."
-
ViolentMedic
- Posts: 1411
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
The laughter was unexpected, but good to hear. Anything that wasn’t crying or screaming or people gurgling on their own blood.
“I’m sorry that you went through all that. You’re right, it’s been the longest week imaginable.”
Marshall closed his hand, bounced it up and down a couple of times idly before lowering it and turning back towards the cliffs and the water, so picturesque and quiet. They could almost ignore the game, if they themselves hadn’t both been bloody and injured.
“Company’s good,” Marshall agreed. He fiddled with his bag, thinking of the weed and gun inside it. He hoped Kai and California were okay.
He didn’t want to chase off June. She would be good company. But even if he deserved the company it would be too dangerous. Irresponsible. She didn’t have a gun, and even if she did a shootout was the last resort. Anyone around him had the chance to die if Evie wasn’t in the mood to listen, because like hell he was shooting first.
“I was going to stay until the sunrise, so that I could look from the view and see any signs on where to go next. We can stay until then. Maybe there’s a way for you to enjoy some of the water, sling or not.”
Marshall looked back and beamed briefly, though it fell off quickly as he quickly averted his gaze again.
“After that… it’s nothing personal, but I have to find Evie. That’s not your mess to clean up. So it’d be too danger—”
He was interrupted by the crackling of the speakers.
“I’m sorry that you went through all that. You’re right, it’s been the longest week imaginable.”
Marshall closed his hand, bounced it up and down a couple of times idly before lowering it and turning back towards the cliffs and the water, so picturesque and quiet. They could almost ignore the game, if they themselves hadn’t both been bloody and injured.
“Company’s good,” Marshall agreed. He fiddled with his bag, thinking of the weed and gun inside it. He hoped Kai and California were okay.
He didn’t want to chase off June. She would be good company. But even if he deserved the company it would be too dangerous. Irresponsible. She didn’t have a gun, and even if she did a shootout was the last resort. Anyone around him had the chance to die if Evie wasn’t in the mood to listen, because like hell he was shooting first.
“I was going to stay until the sunrise, so that I could look from the view and see any signs on where to go next. We can stay until then. Maybe there’s a way for you to enjoy some of the water, sling or not.”
Marshall looked back and beamed briefly, though it fell off quickly as he quickly averted his gaze again.
“After that… it’s nothing personal, but I have to find Evie. That’s not your mess to clean up. So it’d be too danger—”
He was interrupted by the crackling of the speakers.
Ever since K and Medea died, June had stopped actively paying attention to anything in the announcements beyond the danger zones. The names of those who remained were just names to her, there was no one left for her to actively seek out, and the repeat offenders, Kitty, Jezzie, and so on, came up often enough and had hurt her often enough that she could remember them without trying, etched into her hippocampus.
Beyond the practicalities of it, there was something so... tired about it all. The first couple of announcements had landed their marks, the terrorists made their quips about her classmates' horrific fates, and she hurt and took offense like they intended for her to do. But now they were coming up on the tenth or so announcements, the tenth consecutive daily massacre, and she had become numb to it. Their words were just words, they just kept saying things. The speakers could not hurt her in a way that mattered, not any more than Kitty or Jezzie personally had.
Not that they didn't hurt at all. They still carried a sting with them.
The announcer opened with Dick and Darryl's deaths, talked about the futility of the power of friendship. June bit her tongue. Even if she cursed a storm at them, they would not hear her, would not care, so it didn't matter.
Jezzie killed someone else, further spitting on Medea's mercy.
Lily died breaking the rules. June's throat tightened a little at that. Not out of any personal closeness to her, they hadn't run in the same circles, but that was one of two people she was supposed to look for and now it was just Marshall, and Marshall sounded like he had someone else to look for to. Her possible routes forward were dwindling and dwindling, she felt like she was on the edge of a cliff again.
Kitty won a prize for killing her friends. The fire in her chest grew, her nails made indents in her palm.
And then, before she could think further on that, there was an explosion. June startled, fell to the ground instinctively. For a second, she thought Kitty had followed her, decided to finish the job.
But then she looked up, and the air was as clear as before. A boom echoed from two sources, the speakers and far on the horizon. Panicked voices continued the announcements for a few seconds further, and then cut off.
After some seconds of silence, she looked up at Marshall, wide-eyed.
"What was that?"
Beyond the practicalities of it, there was something so... tired about it all. The first couple of announcements had landed their marks, the terrorists made their quips about her classmates' horrific fates, and she hurt and took offense like they intended for her to do. But now they were coming up on the tenth or so announcements, the tenth consecutive daily massacre, and she had become numb to it. Their words were just words, they just kept saying things. The speakers could not hurt her in a way that mattered, not any more than Kitty or Jezzie personally had.
Not that they didn't hurt at all. They still carried a sting with them.
The announcer opened with Dick and Darryl's deaths, talked about the futility of the power of friendship. June bit her tongue. Even if she cursed a storm at them, they would not hear her, would not care, so it didn't matter.
Jezzie killed someone else, further spitting on Medea's mercy.
Lily died breaking the rules. June's throat tightened a little at that. Not out of any personal closeness to her, they hadn't run in the same circles, but that was one of two people she was supposed to look for and now it was just Marshall, and Marshall sounded like he had someone else to look for to. Her possible routes forward were dwindling and dwindling, she felt like she was on the edge of a cliff again.
Kitty won a prize for killing her friends. The fire in her chest grew, her nails made indents in her palm.
And then, before she could think further on that, there was an explosion. June startled, fell to the ground instinctively. For a second, she thought Kitty had followed her, decided to finish the job.
But then she looked up, and the air was as clear as before. A boom echoed from two sources, the speakers and far on the horizon. Panicked voices continued the announcements for a few seconds further, and then cut off.
After some seconds of silence, she looked up at Marshall, wide-eyed.
"What was that?"
-
ViolentMedic
- Posts: 1411
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
The world exploded. Every speaker on the island echoing that ear-shattering noise, and nearly disguising the fact that it echoed across the ocean too.
He dropped down, half out of shock and half out of fear, before the implications of the noise – and the silence that followed – caught up with him.
“I… don’t know,” he said slowly.
He climbed to his feet, then paced far too close to the edge of the cliff, walking back and forth and staring at the ocean glittering in the distance, just a hint of sun poking out over the water. He squinted, but could make out nothing else.
Could it be?
“Hold on.”
Marshall turned back and strode to the water before leaning out over it, staring at his reflection in the warm water. Then he put his bag down and got to his knees, braced himself as best he could on the rocks, and dunked his head into the springs.
He held himself under for a good fifteen seconds. The heat burned his eyes, and his skin stung more where his face had blistered and peeled during his night’s sleep on the mountain a few days ago. But he held himself under anyway, and basked in the sensation.
No dream could replicate this feeling.
Finally, he yanked his head out and inhaled sharply. Water running down his face, his hair a sopping mess, he got to his feet.
“Okay!” he spluttered.
He shook himself to try and dry his hair out, before he planted his feet in the ground and put his hands on his hips. He beamed, and this time it didn’t fail him after a few moments.
“Change of plans! We’re staying here!”
He dropped down, half out of shock and half out of fear, before the implications of the noise – and the silence that followed – caught up with him.
“I… don’t know,” he said slowly.
He climbed to his feet, then paced far too close to the edge of the cliff, walking back and forth and staring at the ocean glittering in the distance, just a hint of sun poking out over the water. He squinted, but could make out nothing else.
Could it be?
“Hold on.”
Marshall turned back and strode to the water before leaning out over it, staring at his reflection in the warm water. Then he put his bag down and got to his knees, braced himself as best he could on the rocks, and dunked his head into the springs.
He held himself under for a good fifteen seconds. The heat burned his eyes, and his skin stung more where his face had blistered and peeled during his night’s sleep on the mountain a few days ago. But he held himself under anyway, and basked in the sensation.
No dream could replicate this feeling.
Finally, he yanked his head out and inhaled sharply. Water running down his face, his hair a sopping mess, he got to his feet.
“Okay!” he spluttered.
He shook himself to try and dry his hair out, before he planted his feet in the ground and put his hands on his hips. He beamed, and this time it didn’t fail him after a few moments.
“Change of plans! We’re staying here!”
June let out another peal of laughter, more stunned, more confused.
Something had befallen the terrorists. It could've been some accidental explosion wherever they were based, but also, it could have been someone attacking them.
The gods of this island, they who had pulled at their strings and set them at each other's throats for so long, were on the back foot now. Whatever had happened to them, they hadn't been expecting it, they'd been caught completely off guard. There was none of the neat conclusions, kind little reminders to keep killing that every other announcement had finished with. Just an abrupt cut off.
June felt light-headed. Something big had happened, but she didn't know what to do with it. In general, she never did well with good news. You would feel good in the moment, but the moment would always pass eventually. Something would come along to ruin it, or the feeling would simply fade. That was how the world worked, in general. This too shall pass, and all.
But, beyond the feeling, she also literally didn't know what to do. It was what she'd told Dick and Darryl before at the bar; all her plans lay with Medea, and Medea lay dead in a danger zone along the beach.
There was something they were supposed to do, something they needed to do to take advantage of the moment. But she was at a loss, she'd been spending all her time before preparing for her impending death. The last time anyone had made a successful escape from SOTF, she was in kindergarten. Things like this didn't happen, not to her generation. But, now there was a chance, now, they had the chance to do something.
They just had to do something.
Marshall whipped his head out the water, mentioned a change of plans, and June immediately latched on to it.
Still somewhat dizzy from the sheer whiplash of the past few moments, June stammered out, unsure smile on her face, "What are we staying for? What's your plan now?"
Something had befallen the terrorists. It could've been some accidental explosion wherever they were based, but also, it could have been someone attacking them.
The gods of this island, they who had pulled at their strings and set them at each other's throats for so long, were on the back foot now. Whatever had happened to them, they hadn't been expecting it, they'd been caught completely off guard. There was none of the neat conclusions, kind little reminders to keep killing that every other announcement had finished with. Just an abrupt cut off.
June felt light-headed. Something big had happened, but she didn't know what to do with it. In general, she never did well with good news. You would feel good in the moment, but the moment would always pass eventually. Something would come along to ruin it, or the feeling would simply fade. That was how the world worked, in general. This too shall pass, and all.
But, beyond the feeling, she also literally didn't know what to do. It was what she'd told Dick and Darryl before at the bar; all her plans lay with Medea, and Medea lay dead in a danger zone along the beach.
There was something they were supposed to do, something they needed to do to take advantage of the moment. But she was at a loss, she'd been spending all her time before preparing for her impending death. The last time anyone had made a successful escape from SOTF, she was in kindergarten. Things like this didn't happen, not to her generation. But, now there was a chance, now, they had the chance to do something.
They just had to do something.
Marshall whipped his head out the water, mentioned a change of plans, and June immediately latched on to it.
Still somewhat dizzy from the sheer whiplash of the past few moments, June stammered out, unsure smile on her face, "What are we staying for? What's your plan now?"
-
ViolentMedic
- Posts: 1411
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:53 am
“Because!” Marshall pointed at their feet. “This is now the highest place on the island that’s still accessible! And it’s close to the middle of the map, so if people want to try and see what’s happening they’d climb!”
As he spoke, he flicked on the flashlight once more and started shining it through the gloomy air. Swinging it back and forth, then shining it further up the mountain and tracing letters – S O S – on the surface as he continued chattering. Trying to swipe hair out of his eyes with the back of his arm.
“If an organized rescue attempt has occurred, then surely people will stop playing. Why would they kill if they might not have to? That’d be ridiculous!”
Optimism had returned at near-full force, but there was still a sliver of doubt. Had murdering over ten people ever been necessary, like Katelyn had? Had Evie needed to keep murdering after killing Chloé?
“Though I’ve been wrong before,” he admitted. “But if people come up here with intent to bring violence… at least this time I’m armed, and we have actual tangible hope to look at. It’s something. It’s the first something in almost two weeks.”
What he did know was that if they heard rescue coming, and still chose to kill…
Marshall glanced back down at his bag. As he continued swinging the flashlight around, the light glimmered off the revolver sitting in his open pack.
That would be unforgivable.
As he spoke, he flicked on the flashlight once more and started shining it through the gloomy air. Swinging it back and forth, then shining it further up the mountain and tracing letters – S O S – on the surface as he continued chattering. Trying to swipe hair out of his eyes with the back of his arm.
“If an organized rescue attempt has occurred, then surely people will stop playing. Why would they kill if they might not have to? That’d be ridiculous!”
Optimism had returned at near-full force, but there was still a sliver of doubt. Had murdering over ten people ever been necessary, like Katelyn had? Had Evie needed to keep murdering after killing Chloé?
“Though I’ve been wrong before,” he admitted. “But if people come up here with intent to bring violence… at least this time I’m armed, and we have actual tangible hope to look at. It’s something. It’s the first something in almost two weeks.”
What he did know was that if they heard rescue coming, and still chose to kill…
Marshall glanced back down at his bag. As he continued swinging the flashlight around, the light glimmered off the revolver sitting in his open pack.
That would be unforgivable.