((The shoe tree should've been around here somewhere.))
Katelynne's eyes stayed glued to the map, looking up on occasion to make sure she didn't stumble into a tree or bump into her companion on the road to the shoe tree. Whatever light conversation Quinn and her exchanged about their homelife or their surroundings or the Yuka thing she immediately forgot as soon as the words left her mouth and ears. She felt slightly bad, but if Katelynne didn't concentrate as hard as she did and delegate all of her limited brainpower to navigation they would've been hopelessly lost in the endless ocean of trees.
To be honest, Katelynne was really surprised when Quinn took her up on her offer to accompany her. Not that that was a bad thing; she just didn't seem the kinda gal who would willingly stick around, especially after the hiccup with Yuka about an hour ago. People were always surprising. Katelynne accepted that she was gonna make this journey alone, so any sort of companionship was pretty much welcome. She wasn't picky.
"Okay," Katelynne drawled, her feet slowing to a stop as she looked up one last time from the map before filing it away in the yearbook. "This is it."
In the middle of the clearing was their destination: the fabled shoe tree. A tree with hundreds of pairs of shoes hanging off the branches, drooping it closer and closer to the ground. Exactly what she assumed, and exactly what she expected.
She rushed ahead of Quinn and got a closer look, standing underneath one of the branches bending pretty significantly. She stared at the shoes hanging down above her, mesmerized by the dangling footwear that gently pushed and pulled with the wind. It was strangely serene.
The sound of someone muttering broke Katelynne from the trance. She scanned left and right like a cat looking for danger; her eyes eventually settled on a newcomer near the other side of the tree, or at least a newcomer she didn't notice before.
A girl in a frayed red sweater. Caroline, the little Mormon girl. With a gun. A real gun, pointed down at the ground while she talked to herself and looked like a hot mess.
Katelynne yelped out an "Eep!", sidestepped back behind the tree, and froze. Maybe she didn't see her. Maybe she didn't hear her. Maybe she was just the fairy guardian of the shoe tree taking the form of one of Katelynne's classmates who also happened to have a shotgun.
Katelynne frantically searched around for Quinn. She handled the Yuka thing; she'd know what to do.
Shoegazing
Day 1 noon-ish, open once Namira and Shiola post
I want to go home. How do I get there from here?
She wandered away from the faces and the eyes and the distant screaming. Along the sand and dirt, across bloody leaves and warm, squishy moss. Sometimes it was a crowd that followed her.
A tree of shoes. Someone must've planted it. Did they plant a shoe? No, that's absurd. They must've stolen the shoe. Planted a tree in it. Yes, that's right.
How do you know it's real? Could just be a regular tree. Don't think about it.
You're thinking about it! Stupid bitch. Always thinking when you shouldn't. What was all that studying for, hmm? Just to end up some dumb cunt on an island full of smarter, stronger people.
When they killed Ms. Garcia, how come we didn't see anything crawling out of her head? That's where we are. You know that's how to get us out.
You stole it. You stole the gun. What're you going to do with it? Murder. So sinful.
Where did they go? Why did they leave me here?
Despicable. Sinful. They left you because they knew what you'd done.
Someone has to come eventually. Someone's going to come help us. Why would they just let this happen? Are they in on it? Was everyone just in on it the whole time?
THEREISONEESCAPEFROMTHISPLACEBUTTHROUGHTHELORDYOURGODWHOSENAMEISJESUSCHRISTTRUSTINTHEWORDANDTHELIGHTYOURPATHTHEPATHTHROUGHFLESHANDTHROUGHSINTHROUGHTHEDEPTHSOFTHESPIRITWORLDHELLISWITHINMAN
Then there were times like these. When she was scared, and alone but not. Never really alone, not anymore. They were like a loud protest, all shouting at once. She knew in her heart they weren't there. It wasn't like hearing something in her soul, like when she prayed. The voices sounded like they were nearby. Sometimes clear, sometimes so faint she could barely tell what they were saying. It was so distracting it was hard to focus on much of anything. It forced her to be still, to sort out the noise from her own thoughts. To try. She wanted to be a conductor, and they a choir. Singing to her, calming her.
"I need to focus. I need to figure out where to go. Stop, please. Please just let me think."
Shut up, shut up, shut the FUCK up.
Did I stutter? Stupid bitch. Stop thinking. You don't need to think. Just put the barrel in your mouth. Remind you of anything, slut? I bet you thought of that right away.
You were so close. Close enough to smell it. That's what it's going to be like.
They're all here because they all left their shoes, and you have to leave them somewhere. Can't just leave shoes lying around. What if someone trips? Trips and falls. Tripping and falling and landing and shattering. Like glass. Like a skull after a bullet.
They might sing for her one day. Moments like this would just be choir practice. It could be beautiful, if only they weren't an angry mob. How did someone stop a mob? Rubber bullets, tear gas, batons. The only way they would be cowed into silence was by force. Chemicals. Chemicals she didn't have. So there was no stopping the riot. Not alone.
"Just... work with me. Please."
Engaging with them never worked. They just kept going, because they believed their cause was just and the police didn't want to create martyrs, and because of an illness that crossed wires in her brain. She knew this, but it felt like it was meaningful to plead with them. It felt better than nothing at all, which is what she really felt in moments like this when she didn't know who she was or where she was.
"If I die, you all die too. I'm your only chance."
Good. We'll crawl out when your brains scatter like hers did.
I don't want to leave. I don't want to die! Don't die on me, don't fuck up, stupid cunt!
I'll follow you to the other side.
If you die, how will you find out why there are shoes on the tree?
Tripping and falling under the tree full of skulls.
They looked like shoes at first, but the closer Caroline looked the more they seemed like skulls. All cracked open from the same place, one small hole in the back and a big one in the front. Jaws agape. Caroline's jaw hung open too for a moment, before she reminded herself that people didn't have to wear skulls on their feet. Nor did they. Reminding herself over and over, oblivious to the company that had joined her in the clearing.
"People wear skulls on their necks, and shoes on their feet. Can't trip over a skull, well I guess I could but not as easily as you trip on a shoe. Shoelace, more like. Only a shoe if it's dark and someone's left it there. I never do. I'm tidy. Wouldn't leave my skull just lying on the ground where someone could trip and shatter on it. Things would crawl out, and they'd get into your shoes and never leave. They never leave."
A sound, distinct from the din she was accustomed to, broke her from her stupor. She blinked and wheeled around, looking about the clearing. It was unfamiliar to her, and she had to the distinct impression she'd been standing by the lake only moments ago. The sun was still shining much as it had back there. It was higher in the sky than it had been at the lake, though. How long had it been?
((Caroline Ford continued from Dead Bxdies in the Lake))
The shotgun felt heavy her hands, the sling hanging limply below it and tickling her shin. She held on tightly as her eyes scanned the treeline, not shouldering the weapon just yet. It might've been the others. Someone she didn't want to shoot. Anyone.
"Is anyone there?"
She wandered away from the faces and the eyes and the distant screaming. Along the sand and dirt, across bloody leaves and warm, squishy moss. Sometimes it was a crowd that followed her.
A tree of shoes. Someone must've planted it. Did they plant a shoe? No, that's absurd. They must've stolen the shoe. Planted a tree in it. Yes, that's right.
How do you know it's real? Could just be a regular tree. Don't think about it.
You're thinking about it! Stupid bitch. Always thinking when you shouldn't. What was all that studying for, hmm? Just to end up some dumb cunt on an island full of smarter, stronger people.
When they killed Ms. Garcia, how come we didn't see anything crawling out of her head? That's where we are. You know that's how to get us out.
You stole it. You stole the gun. What're you going to do with it? Murder. So sinful.
Where did they go? Why did they leave me here?
Despicable. Sinful. They left you because they knew what you'd done.
Someone has to come eventually. Someone's going to come help us. Why would they just let this happen? Are they in on it? Was everyone just in on it the whole time?
THEREISONEESCAPEFROMTHISPLACEBUTTHROUGHTHELORDYOURGODWHOSENAMEISJESUSCHRISTTRUSTINTHEWORDANDTHELIGHTYOURPATHTHEPATHTHROUGHFLESHANDTHROUGHSINTHROUGHTHEDEPTHSOFTHESPIRITWORLDHELLISWITHINMAN
Then there were times like these. When she was scared, and alone but not. Never really alone, not anymore. They were like a loud protest, all shouting at once. She knew in her heart they weren't there. It wasn't like hearing something in her soul, like when she prayed. The voices sounded like they were nearby. Sometimes clear, sometimes so faint she could barely tell what they were saying. It was so distracting it was hard to focus on much of anything. It forced her to be still, to sort out the noise from her own thoughts. To try. She wanted to be a conductor, and they a choir. Singing to her, calming her.
"I need to focus. I need to figure out where to go. Stop, please. Please just let me think."
Shut up, shut up, shut the FUCK up.
Did I stutter? Stupid bitch. Stop thinking. You don't need to think. Just put the barrel in your mouth. Remind you of anything, slut? I bet you thought of that right away.
You were so close. Close enough to smell it. That's what it's going to be like.
They're all here because they all left their shoes, and you have to leave them somewhere. Can't just leave shoes lying around. What if someone trips? Trips and falls. Tripping and falling and landing and shattering. Like glass. Like a skull after a bullet.
They might sing for her one day. Moments like this would just be choir practice. It could be beautiful, if only they weren't an angry mob. How did someone stop a mob? Rubber bullets, tear gas, batons. The only way they would be cowed into silence was by force. Chemicals. Chemicals she didn't have. So there was no stopping the riot. Not alone.
"Just... work with me. Please."
Engaging with them never worked. They just kept going, because they believed their cause was just and the police didn't want to create martyrs, and because of an illness that crossed wires in her brain. She knew this, but it felt like it was meaningful to plead with them. It felt better than nothing at all, which is what she really felt in moments like this when she didn't know who she was or where she was.
"If I die, you all die too. I'm your only chance."
Good. We'll crawl out when your brains scatter like hers did.
I don't want to leave. I don't want to die! Don't die on me, don't fuck up, stupid cunt!
I'll follow you to the other side.
If you die, how will you find out why there are shoes on the tree?
Tripping and falling under the tree full of skulls.
They looked like shoes at first, but the closer Caroline looked the more they seemed like skulls. All cracked open from the same place, one small hole in the back and a big one in the front. Jaws agape. Caroline's jaw hung open too for a moment, before she reminded herself that people didn't have to wear skulls on their feet. Nor did they. Reminding herself over and over, oblivious to the company that had joined her in the clearing.
"People wear skulls on their necks, and shoes on their feet. Can't trip over a skull, well I guess I could but not as easily as you trip on a shoe. Shoelace, more like. Only a shoe if it's dark and someone's left it there. I never do. I'm tidy. Wouldn't leave my skull just lying on the ground where someone could trip and shatter on it. Things would crawl out, and they'd get into your shoes and never leave. They never leave."
A sound, distinct from the din she was accustomed to, broke her from her stupor. She blinked and wheeled around, looking about the clearing. It was unfamiliar to her, and she had to the distinct impression she'd been standing by the lake only moments ago. The sun was still shining much as it had back there. It was higher in the sky than it had been at the lake, though. How long had it been?
((Caroline Ford continued from Dead Bxdies in the Lake))
The shotgun felt heavy her hands, the sling hanging limply below it and tickling her shin. She held on tightly as her eyes scanned the treeline, not shouldering the weapon just yet. It might've been the others. Someone she didn't want to shoot. Anyone.
"Is anyone there?"
Katelynne was company. She walked with Quinn, or perhaps Quinn walked with her, since it was Katelynne that had set the destination and Quinn who was in her wake. The conversation quality... existed. Her social circle was limited and those within it could be divided into the simple categories of 'school' and 'basketball'. The former, she simply needed to talk about assignments and projects, steering any other conversation back towards work. The same held true for the latter and either recent or upcoming games. Straightforward, within guidelines. Katelynne was within neither of those circles; most of the topic starters which Quinn deployed in emergency social situations didn't seem to be appropriate or relevant, and given the circumstances, Quinn didn't see the point of attempting to maintain the pretense of normalcy in a decidedly abnormal scenario.
If someone sprung on her from out of the bushes and shot her in the head, Quinn felt she'd be mildly irritated if her last words were something about how at least the weather was nice.
Quinn made occasional noises that resembled a conversation, Katelynne appeared to be fine with those responses as an interlude to her attempts to follow the map. Ten of the clock and all's well. The general silence gave Quinn the opportunity to consider her choice of companion. She knew little about Katelynne and assumed the reverse held true, given she had no reason to believe otherwise. Even if by happenstance Katelynne was an avid follower of George Hunter varsity sports, there were other members of the basketball team who ate up considerably more of the spotlight than she. Putting it this way, there were three girls on the Horned Owls whom one could reliably find using a search engine and the right filters, and another two that could be located with a couple of additional clicks. Quinn was none of them. That was fine, Quinn wasn't interested in being the star of the show, and she was probably overthinking what amounted to travel arrangements. Know her or not, Katelynne was with her now, that was what mattered.
Katelynne had a book she was carting around which Quinn eventually surmised was probably her weapon, given she couldn't see any other reason for the girl to be carrying a yearbook for a school which wasn't hers. Actually, there wasn't much of a reason anyway because it was a useless item, but that wasn't a topic Quinn felt like broaching at the moment. Katelynne was more or less an adult, she could make her own choices. Regardless, it took a frustratingly long time to determine what the book was from the quick glances she was able to grab when Katelynne wasn't looking and had the book at the correct angle. A significant amount of travel time was eaten away to that, and Quinn wasn't going to ask. As a result, since Katelynne was doing the navigating, that left Quinn with the notion of being out in the middle of nowhere and having to expend yet more time figuring out her location alone should she decide to end the partnership.
At length, they arrived at the fabled shoe tree. It was, well, a tree which had shoes hanging from the branches.
Quinn wasn't sure what else should have been expected.
Katelynne seemed to like it though, staring at the abandoned footwear with the kind of wide-eyed admiration that most reserved for wonders of the natural world. Quinn followed her with markedly less enthusiasm. Shoes. They were shoes. Nobody had put effort or skill into crafting this display, it was just shoes. Whatever. She wasn't interested but if Katelynne was--there was another person around the other side of the tree. A heavily armed person. Her companion immediately improved the situation by letting out a cry and... not alerting the girl with the shotgun?
Something was very off here, but not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Quinn grabbed Katelynne by the back of the cardigan and pulled her behind the tree. Quinn put her back to the bark and bodily tugged Katelynne against her, tucking her chin over the other girl's shoulder.
"Ssh." Quinn hissed into her ear.
If someone sprung on her from out of the bushes and shot her in the head, Quinn felt she'd be mildly irritated if her last words were something about how at least the weather was nice.
Quinn made occasional noises that resembled a conversation, Katelynne appeared to be fine with those responses as an interlude to her attempts to follow the map. Ten of the clock and all's well. The general silence gave Quinn the opportunity to consider her choice of companion. She knew little about Katelynne and assumed the reverse held true, given she had no reason to believe otherwise. Even if by happenstance Katelynne was an avid follower of George Hunter varsity sports, there were other members of the basketball team who ate up considerably more of the spotlight than she. Putting it this way, there were three girls on the Horned Owls whom one could reliably find using a search engine and the right filters, and another two that could be located with a couple of additional clicks. Quinn was none of them. That was fine, Quinn wasn't interested in being the star of the show, and she was probably overthinking what amounted to travel arrangements. Know her or not, Katelynne was with her now, that was what mattered.
Katelynne had a book she was carting around which Quinn eventually surmised was probably her weapon, given she couldn't see any other reason for the girl to be carrying a yearbook for a school which wasn't hers. Actually, there wasn't much of a reason anyway because it was a useless item, but that wasn't a topic Quinn felt like broaching at the moment. Katelynne was more or less an adult, she could make her own choices. Regardless, it took a frustratingly long time to determine what the book was from the quick glances she was able to grab when Katelynne wasn't looking and had the book at the correct angle. A significant amount of travel time was eaten away to that, and Quinn wasn't going to ask. As a result, since Katelynne was doing the navigating, that left Quinn with the notion of being out in the middle of nowhere and having to expend yet more time figuring out her location alone should she decide to end the partnership.
At length, they arrived at the fabled shoe tree. It was, well, a tree which had shoes hanging from the branches.
Quinn wasn't sure what else should have been expected.
Katelynne seemed to like it though, staring at the abandoned footwear with the kind of wide-eyed admiration that most reserved for wonders of the natural world. Quinn followed her with markedly less enthusiasm. Shoes. They were shoes. Nobody had put effort or skill into crafting this display, it was just shoes. Whatever. She wasn't interested but if Katelynne was--there was another person around the other side of the tree. A heavily armed person. Her companion immediately improved the situation by letting out a cry and... not alerting the girl with the shotgun?
Something was very off here, but not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Quinn grabbed Katelynne by the back of the cardigan and pulled her behind the tree. Quinn put her back to the bark and bodily tugged Katelynne against her, tucking her chin over the other girl's shoulder.
"Ssh." Quinn hissed into her ear.
Suddenly someone yanked Katelynne like she just walked into the middle of traffic and pulled her into an embrace behind the tree as Caroline called out for the source of the noise.
It was Quinn. She shushed Katelynne, and she responded back with a couple of quick head nods that Quinn probably couldn't see but at least could feel. Thank God she was here.
Her arm resting in front of Quinn rattled violently. She'd never been this close to a real shotgun before. The images of Ms. Garcia and the girls from the video flashed through her mind, the ones she drilled in her head not to worry about because it wasn't gonna happen to her.
She wished she went for the art exhibition.
It was Quinn. She shushed Katelynne, and she responded back with a couple of quick head nods that Quinn probably couldn't see but at least could feel. Thank God she was here.
Her arm resting in front of Quinn rattled violently. She'd never been this close to a real shotgun before. The images of Ms. Garcia and the girls from the video flashed through her mind, the ones she drilled in her head not to worry about because it wasn't gonna happen to her.
She wished she went for the art exhibition.
"Is anyone there?" called the girl with the gun.
"Uh," offered a voice that somehow managed to be loud and hesitant at the same time. "Yeah?"
(Daria Bhatia continued from INT: DARK ROOM - THE END OF THE WORLD)
She'd been wandering for some time across the place she was supposed to die, leaving the house she'd awoken in far behind. The idea hadn't fully formed yet. She didn't yet understand what she intended, except that she wanted to fuck with the people who were fucking with them all. They still hadn't answered (assholes can't even answer a single question, what kind of shitshow was this?), but that was alright. She didn't know what she'd do with the answer.
She needed to talk to someone. Needed to try and flesh out her thoughts. Daria was creative, but only when she worked with others. Silence never led to creativity.
And even if it did, Daria hated silence.
So she was afraid, hearing rustling in the underbrush and the creaking of doors, hearing distant shouts and the cracking of branches underfoot. But Daria kept looking, until her search had pulled her into the woods. Soon she heard a voice, its volume rising and falling unsteadily, and following that voice brought her out near the boughs of a tree laden with shoes, bobbing in the breeze like dandelion seeds.
No sooner had she reached the edge of this clearing than a shout rang out from near the trunk. For a moment she froze, searching for the source. There, a humanoid figure, half-concealed around the tree's bulk. She swallowed, raised her voice to theatrical levels without thinking about it.
Only after she'd spoken did she see another facet of the shape before her. Only after she'd spoken did she see the gun clasped tight in the girl's hand as her eyes raked the treeline.
And then her throat felt terribly try, and her mind felt terribly dull, and her heart beat terribly fast.
"How's...how's it going?" she called, and tried to wave casually.
What an excellent choice of last words.
"Uh," offered a voice that somehow managed to be loud and hesitant at the same time. "Yeah?"
(Daria Bhatia continued from INT: DARK ROOM - THE END OF THE WORLD)
She'd been wandering for some time across the place she was supposed to die, leaving the house she'd awoken in far behind. The idea hadn't fully formed yet. She didn't yet understand what she intended, except that she wanted to fuck with the people who were fucking with them all. They still hadn't answered (assholes can't even answer a single question, what kind of shitshow was this?), but that was alright. She didn't know what she'd do with the answer.
She needed to talk to someone. Needed to try and flesh out her thoughts. Daria was creative, but only when she worked with others. Silence never led to creativity.
And even if it did, Daria hated silence.
So she was afraid, hearing rustling in the underbrush and the creaking of doors, hearing distant shouts and the cracking of branches underfoot. But Daria kept looking, until her search had pulled her into the woods. Soon she heard a voice, its volume rising and falling unsteadily, and following that voice brought her out near the boughs of a tree laden with shoes, bobbing in the breeze like dandelion seeds.
No sooner had she reached the edge of this clearing than a shout rang out from near the trunk. For a moment she froze, searching for the source. There, a humanoid figure, half-concealed around the tree's bulk. She swallowed, raised her voice to theatrical levels without thinking about it.
Only after she'd spoken did she see another facet of the shape before her. Only after she'd spoken did she see the gun clasped tight in the girl's hand as her eyes raked the treeline.
And then her throat felt terribly try, and her mind felt terribly dull, and her heart beat terribly fast.
"How's...how's it going?" she called, and tried to wave casually.
What an excellent choice of last words.
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Oh. There's actually someone there. That's nice.
Caroline cocked her head as she saw the newcomer. Couldn't remember her name, but knew her to be something of a star mathematician. Strangely enough, she seemed to have arrived from a different direction as the previous human noises she'd heard before. She sighed, resigned to the fractured reality she had found herself within. It's possible they were out there, and it was possible it was just another few scared teenagers, or no one at all. Caroline lowered the shotgun slightly, resting it in the crook of her arm. It was heavy, but not as bad as she'd thought. The bags were worse.
Where am I going? Or how am I going?
Right. There was a question being asked. From outside. Maybe the other girl just wanted to ask about skulls shoes hanging from the tree. Standing here as she did, Caroline must've looked like she knew what she was doing. Or at least, like she knew where she was. Normal people got that right, at least most of the time. Navigation was something she'd always been good at. A person had to be, if they're going to fly anywhere. If not, they might end up crashing into an island with only the skeletons of teenagers to keep them company, and not a spare pair of shoes to be found in sight because in these places, trees seemed to take all of the shoes for themselves.
"Does that mean it has feet...? Oh, hey. I am, uhh..." Caroline rubbed her eyes and adjusted her glasses. To her, it was like trying to speak through a crowd. The hard part was remembering to keep things at a level volume for everyone else, or at least the girl who stood in front of her.
"It's... going. I got lost. I guess I was not really going anywhere in particular. Trying to stay... no, staying safe. Yeah, that. I heard some gunshots, and I didn't want anything to do with that. You holding it together?"
The din eased. No longer a mob, just a crowd she had to shove through. On some level, seeing a friendly face brought a sense of calm, even if it wasn't familiar.
Caroline cocked her head as she saw the newcomer. Couldn't remember her name, but knew her to be something of a star mathematician. Strangely enough, she seemed to have arrived from a different direction as the previous human noises she'd heard before. She sighed, resigned to the fractured reality she had found herself within. It's possible they were out there, and it was possible it was just another few scared teenagers, or no one at all. Caroline lowered the shotgun slightly, resting it in the crook of her arm. It was heavy, but not as bad as she'd thought. The bags were worse.
Where am I going? Or how am I going?
Right. There was a question being asked. From outside. Maybe the other girl just wanted to ask about skulls shoes hanging from the tree. Standing here as she did, Caroline must've looked like she knew what she was doing. Or at least, like she knew where she was. Normal people got that right, at least most of the time. Navigation was something she'd always been good at. A person had to be, if they're going to fly anywhere. If not, they might end up crashing into an island with only the skeletons of teenagers to keep them company, and not a spare pair of shoes to be found in sight because in these places, trees seemed to take all of the shoes for themselves.
"Does that mean it has feet...? Oh, hey. I am, uhh..." Caroline rubbed her eyes and adjusted her glasses. To her, it was like trying to speak through a crowd. The hard part was remembering to keep things at a level volume for everyone else, or at least the girl who stood in front of her.
"It's... going. I got lost. I guess I was not really going anywhere in particular. Trying to stay... no, staying safe. Yeah, that. I heard some gunshots, and I didn't want anything to do with that. You holding it together?"
The din eased. No longer a mob, just a crowd she had to shove through. On some level, seeing a friendly face brought a sense of calm, even if it wasn't familiar.
Enquiry turned to conversation. A fresh voice joined the first, and though Quinn didn't recognise it by ear alone, the new presence was still a relief. Another person got to test the waters of unknown shotgun-wielder and that was more than fine by Quinn. The girl with the gun had reacted strangely and slowly, picking up on Katelynne's outburst as if hailed from a great distance. Perhaps she had poor hearing, perhaps she was just distracted, though by what Quinn couldn't say.
Regardless, that left them safe, if only for a moment. Katelynne stood close to her, nestled in her arms. Katelynne's cheek was warm against hers, both of them tucked so closely together they were almost a single being. She was a little shorter than Quinn but built roughly the same, slim and narrow. Was there strength in that slender arm which trembled against Quinn's own? The constant motion sent goosebumps across her forearm, even covered by her sleeve; if she hadn't been standing so straight, so focused on not moving, then she may have even shivered. Quinn could feel Katelynne's heartbeat through her back, against her breast. Maybe Katelynne could feel hers too. She wondered how that was; Quinn's reverberated, roared, hammering with all the force of a gunshot. The adrenaline was sweeping through her system, her mouth dry, eyes darting to and fro, ears straining for any further scrap of noise from the other side of the tree. The last time she remembered feeling anything even comparable to this was in those intensely close rounds—not of basketball, in a fighting game—where a single wrong move could signal her character's bloody demise, leaving them a humiliated, dismembered smear on the stage.
Those games had always been a little silly, she mused to herself, heart pounding against a shirt for the exact franchise. You could punch someone in the face, see every bone cave in as an x-ray, and then they'd just keep on battling like nothing had happened. Even sillier that it was her closest point of comparison. As frustrating as it'd always been to lose a close match, it didn't come close to matching the permanency of whatever took place here on this island. Quinn and Katelynne wouldn't be getting up for another round, back to character select to fight to the death all over again after buckshot shredded their chests to ribbons, swords slashed, fists cracked bones.
You didn't have to hit someone all that hard to break something. They'd lectured Quinn about that after her fight with that girl from Arkansas; she could have done some serious harm by retaliating, pay no mind to the fact that she'd come flying into Quinn with no intention of getting the ball whatsoever. Ignore the fact that Quinn was the one in the hospital for stitches. Let's divide the blame, let's talk about why both sides are wrong. Lucky that she'd avoided doing the other girl any serious harm, when there were so many fragile bones in the head that could buckle under the pressure of a punch, give way, snap. Quinn, personally, had viewed it as the opposite, but that was something she knew she was not supposed to say. Apologise, even if you don't mean it. That way was just easier in the end.
How thick was this tree, anyway? It was fairly large, probably the reason it had been picked out for all this unique decoration. The size made the plant into a landmark, and the size was enough that provided the two of them didn't jerk wildly to one side or the other, they were blocked off from view. Safe, after a fashion. Safe from the blast of a shotgun. Safe from whatever else the armed student or their well-timed visitor may be wielding. Shielded by the tree's boughs, shielded by one another. Could that continue to be? Could the two of them forge a partnership, protecting one another from that which lay ahead? Katelynne was agreeable and with her current priorities, trustworthy. Perhaps that was the way forward.
Quinn thought about Yuka and Cedric from earlier and how the five of them had all acted. Quinn thought about the people she really knew best here. Arizona, Cheridene, Rhonda, Shauna, Garnet. Five people she could play with well enough. Five people she could trust? No, of course not. Where did that leave Katelynne?
The idea of an enduring alliance, two survivors finding one another and watching each other's backs through thick and thin was a charming one. Quinn listened to, felt the thumping beat pressed so closely to her. Quinn felt her breath calm and still, her own beat redoubling.
She snaked her arm from Katelynne's shoulder to her neck, gripped the elbow with her opposite hand, and squeezed with all her might.
Regardless, that left them safe, if only for a moment. Katelynne stood close to her, nestled in her arms. Katelynne's cheek was warm against hers, both of them tucked so closely together they were almost a single being. She was a little shorter than Quinn but built roughly the same, slim and narrow. Was there strength in that slender arm which trembled against Quinn's own? The constant motion sent goosebumps across her forearm, even covered by her sleeve; if she hadn't been standing so straight, so focused on not moving, then she may have even shivered. Quinn could feel Katelynne's heartbeat through her back, against her breast. Maybe Katelynne could feel hers too. She wondered how that was; Quinn's reverberated, roared, hammering with all the force of a gunshot. The adrenaline was sweeping through her system, her mouth dry, eyes darting to and fro, ears straining for any further scrap of noise from the other side of the tree. The last time she remembered feeling anything even comparable to this was in those intensely close rounds—not of basketball, in a fighting game—where a single wrong move could signal her character's bloody demise, leaving them a humiliated, dismembered smear on the stage.
Those games had always been a little silly, she mused to herself, heart pounding against a shirt for the exact franchise. You could punch someone in the face, see every bone cave in as an x-ray, and then they'd just keep on battling like nothing had happened. Even sillier that it was her closest point of comparison. As frustrating as it'd always been to lose a close match, it didn't come close to matching the permanency of whatever took place here on this island. Quinn and Katelynne wouldn't be getting up for another round, back to character select to fight to the death all over again after buckshot shredded their chests to ribbons, swords slashed, fists cracked bones.
You didn't have to hit someone all that hard to break something. They'd lectured Quinn about that after her fight with that girl from Arkansas; she could have done some serious harm by retaliating, pay no mind to the fact that she'd come flying into Quinn with no intention of getting the ball whatsoever. Ignore the fact that Quinn was the one in the hospital for stitches. Let's divide the blame, let's talk about why both sides are wrong. Lucky that she'd avoided doing the other girl any serious harm, when there were so many fragile bones in the head that could buckle under the pressure of a punch, give way, snap. Quinn, personally, had viewed it as the opposite, but that was something she knew she was not supposed to say. Apologise, even if you don't mean it. That way was just easier in the end.
How thick was this tree, anyway? It was fairly large, probably the reason it had been picked out for all this unique decoration. The size made the plant into a landmark, and the size was enough that provided the two of them didn't jerk wildly to one side or the other, they were blocked off from view. Safe, after a fashion. Safe from the blast of a shotgun. Safe from whatever else the armed student or their well-timed visitor may be wielding. Shielded by the tree's boughs, shielded by one another. Could that continue to be? Could the two of them forge a partnership, protecting one another from that which lay ahead? Katelynne was agreeable and with her current priorities, trustworthy. Perhaps that was the way forward.
Quinn thought about Yuka and Cedric from earlier and how the five of them had all acted. Quinn thought about the people she really knew best here. Arizona, Cheridene, Rhonda, Shauna, Garnet. Five people she could play with well enough. Five people she could trust? No, of course not. Where did that leave Katelynne?
The idea of an enduring alliance, two survivors finding one another and watching each other's backs through thick and thin was a charming one. Quinn listened to, felt the thumping beat pressed so closely to her. Quinn felt her breath calm and still, her own beat redoubling.
She snaked her arm from Katelynne's shoulder to her neck, gripped the elbow with her opposite hand, and squeezed with all her might.
Katelynne dropped the yearbook in shock; it fell and landed with a soft thump in the grass by the edge of the tree.
She tried thrashing, tried kicking, tried tearing at Quinn's arms with all of her might. But it was no match; the Vise-Grip around her neck remained steadfast.
The wooziness hit like a truck; her vision hazened in seconds. Her eyes welled up as her throat burned.
She tried to say something: to ask what Quinn was doing, to ask her why, to ask her to stop, to plead with her to stop, to call Caroline or the new girl for help, to call anyone for help. But even if her cries weren't just rendered as pained chokes it didn't matter. Nobody heard, and nobody cared.
She was so tired.
Her body went limp.
She tried thrashing, tried kicking, tried tearing at Quinn's arms with all of her might. But it was no match; the Vise-Grip around her neck remained steadfast.
The wooziness hit like a truck; her vision hazened in seconds. Her eyes welled up as her throat burned.
She tried to say something: to ask what Quinn was doing, to ask her why, to ask her to stop, to plead with her to stop, to call Caroline or the new girl for help, to call anyone for help. But even if her cries weren't just rendered as pained chokes it didn't matter. Nobody heard, and nobody cared.
She was so tired.
Her body went limp.
The girl was vaguely familiar to Daria. Caroline? Caroline sounded right, but Daria supposed she could just ask. Didn't have to stand on ceremony now, did they? Worst came to worst, even if it was awkward, they'd both be dead in a few weeks.
Worst to worst, or best to best.
The silence stretched between them, but the gun did not snap towards her, and Daria was willing to call that a small victory. Anyways, Daria found she didn't mind quiet. It was almost a relief, actually: there was nothing really awkward about this silence, nothing especially dangerous or fraught. Caroline was looking at her, and Caroline was thinking about the question, and given where they were and the bombs around their neck, Daria thought she deserved a little time to manage an honest answer. She searched the treeline herself, frowning. Was something moving there?
...has feet...?” mumbled the girl.
“Huh?” Daria looked back.
Caroline's eyes snapped back to her. She seemed a little shaken herself. Daria didn't blame her. "It's... going. I got lost. I guess I was not really going anywhere in particular. Trying to stay... no, staying safe. Yeah, that. I heard some gunshots, and I didn't want anything to do with that. You holding it together?"
“Preaching to the choir, girl,” Daria said. “Just...roaming. Trying to figure things out. Kinda needed to find people, y'know? Feeling a little...crazy.” She paused thoughtfully. “So I guess...not sure if I'm holing it together. Trying to, anyways.”
She was thinking of asking something else—about the gunshots, maybe, or if Caroline had any idea what she was looking for. But before she could quite formulate that question, she heard...
No, not heard. Became aware of something she'd been hearing. There was an undercurrent of noise in the forest she'd taken for granted, and something about it had changed. There was something rustling, punctuated by short grunts and scuffs and scuffles. That didn't sound normal. That sounded human. That sounded violent.
“You hear that?” whispered Daria, moving closer to Caroline without thinking.
Worst to worst, or best to best.
The silence stretched between them, but the gun did not snap towards her, and Daria was willing to call that a small victory. Anyways, Daria found she didn't mind quiet. It was almost a relief, actually: there was nothing really awkward about this silence, nothing especially dangerous or fraught. Caroline was looking at her, and Caroline was thinking about the question, and given where they were and the bombs around their neck, Daria thought she deserved a little time to manage an honest answer. She searched the treeline herself, frowning. Was something moving there?
...has feet...?” mumbled the girl.
“Huh?” Daria looked back.
Caroline's eyes snapped back to her. She seemed a little shaken herself. Daria didn't blame her. "It's... going. I got lost. I guess I was not really going anywhere in particular. Trying to stay... no, staying safe. Yeah, that. I heard some gunshots, and I didn't want anything to do with that. You holding it together?"
“Preaching to the choir, girl,” Daria said. “Just...roaming. Trying to figure things out. Kinda needed to find people, y'know? Feeling a little...crazy.” She paused thoughtfully. “So I guess...not sure if I'm holing it together. Trying to, anyways.”
She was thinking of asking something else—about the gunshots, maybe, or if Caroline had any idea what she was looking for. But before she could quite formulate that question, she heard...
No, not heard. Became aware of something she'd been hearing. There was an undercurrent of noise in the forest she'd taken for granted, and something about it had changed. There was something rustling, punctuated by short grunts and scuffs and scuffles. That didn't sound normal. That sounded human. That sounded violent.
“You hear that?” whispered Daria, moving closer to Caroline without thinking.
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Preaching to the choir, was that supposed to be some kind of joke? What did she mean, she felt crazy? This girl didn't seem like she was feeling terribly jovial. Or anything like what Caroline felt. Not that Caroline felt crazy, either. That was a really mean thing to say to someone who had to hear it from herself constantly. Caroline couldn't see a dry wit spilling from her shoulders like sand, dust or dandruff. What she did see was a girl who seemed to be struggling with demons of her own. The metaphorical kind. It made her think of the words she'd spoken earlier, words she was sure were her own. Did she really tell Yuki all of that? She must have.
The land oozed a foul purpose, if the cages, trees littered with human remains and evident history of inequity was any indication. This place was evil. It only served them as some kind of crucible of redemption. Sin was printed into the ground with every step Caroline and her classmates took.
Everyone is dangerous.
The other girl started towards her, asking if she'd heard something. No doubt she knew what Caroline was going through, most of the school knew about it. Lots of people thought it was funny. So many. Not Regina, she was only one person and she didn't find it funny. It was a call to compassion for her. Not like this girl. She asked if Caroline heard that. It was callous, and cruel.
Was it because of how she had acted? She tried not to be preachy, to impose her beliefs on anyone. It just didn't befit her to remain silent about them, that was all. Perhaps she'd ran afoul of this girl somehow. Did that make saying something like that less mean-spirited? Of course it didn't.
"Hear them? Hear who, exactly? Oh yeah, you think Carrie's gone off the deep end, hm?"
Caroline stepped back, tentatively adjusting her grip on the shotgun. She didn't point it at the stranger, but kept it at the ready so she wouldn't draw closer.
"I want to believe you're not making fun of me, that you're just scared, but what can I do? Sometimes I'd just like to die. What do I know of you? What role are you trying to play, here?"
God finds us in places like this. Suffering begets redemption.
The shotgun slowly rose to her shoulder, as her voice fell to a whisper. Her heart raced, the fear almost totally overwhelming. There was plenty of open space, and yet she felt cornered.
"...this isn't His presence we're feeling right now."
Caroline paused, her eyes darting from side to side. Without warning, she cocked the hammer of the shotgun and aimed it at the source of the sounds, at least the ones Daria had referred to. The weapon was heavier than her uncle's survival rifle, but sturdier. It didn't rattle in the same way when she brought it to her shoulder. Nobody ever expected Caroline to have a very loud voice, but years of helping run youth events at the Church had taught her how to project over a crowd. Eyes wild, she shouted in the direction of the potential antagonists. A niggling scrap of self-doubt reminded her of how silly she would look if it turned out to be nothing at all, but she drowned out that thought with sound and fury.
"SHOW YOURSELF! I'M READY TO ATONE FOR WHATEVER HAPPENS IF YOU FUCKING TEST ME, SO DON'T TRY ANYTHING STUPID!"
The land oozed a foul purpose, if the cages, trees littered with human remains and evident history of inequity was any indication. This place was evil. It only served them as some kind of crucible of redemption. Sin was printed into the ground with every step Caroline and her classmates took.
Everyone is dangerous.
The other girl started towards her, asking if she'd heard something. No doubt she knew what Caroline was going through, most of the school knew about it. Lots of people thought it was funny. So many. Not Regina, she was only one person and she didn't find it funny. It was a call to compassion for her. Not like this girl. She asked if Caroline heard that. It was callous, and cruel.
Was it because of how she had acted? She tried not to be preachy, to impose her beliefs on anyone. It just didn't befit her to remain silent about them, that was all. Perhaps she'd ran afoul of this girl somehow. Did that make saying something like that less mean-spirited? Of course it didn't.
"Hear them? Hear who, exactly? Oh yeah, you think Carrie's gone off the deep end, hm?"
Caroline stepped back, tentatively adjusting her grip on the shotgun. She didn't point it at the stranger, but kept it at the ready so she wouldn't draw closer.
"I want to believe you're not making fun of me, that you're just scared, but what can I do? Sometimes I'd just like to die. What do I know of you? What role are you trying to play, here?"
God finds us in places like this. Suffering begets redemption.
The shotgun slowly rose to her shoulder, as her voice fell to a whisper. Her heart raced, the fear almost totally overwhelming. There was plenty of open space, and yet she felt cornered.
"...this isn't His presence we're feeling right now."
Caroline paused, her eyes darting from side to side. Without warning, she cocked the hammer of the shotgun and aimed it at the source of the sounds, at least the ones Daria had referred to. The weapon was heavier than her uncle's survival rifle, but sturdier. It didn't rattle in the same way when she brought it to her shoulder. Nobody ever expected Caroline to have a very loud voice, but years of helping run youth events at the Church had taught her how to project over a crowd. Eyes wild, she shouted in the direction of the potential antagonists. A niggling scrap of self-doubt reminded her of how silly she would look if it turned out to be nothing at all, but she drowned out that thought with sound and fury.
"SHOW YOURSELF! I'M READY TO ATONE FOR WHATEVER HAPPENS IF YOU FUCKING TEST ME, SO DON'T TRY ANYTHING STUPID!"
That was more or less as easy as Quinn had hoped and easier than she'd expected. She was stronger, had a better position, and definitely the element of surprise. Too bad for Katelynne.
Quinn had jitters. She was giddy, wired up, her lips twitching as Katelynne's struggles weakened. This exceeded every idle imagining she'd ever had. How could she have imagined, even came close in her musings, closing her eyes and picturing how it'd be to ram a knife through someone's smug face the tenth time they quoted her own poetry at her? This went above and beyond the satisfaction she'd felt from avenging her injury from that girl in the basketball game. That was petty, a schoolyard squabble, a tiny incident that meant something for that one night and then was instantly a story, another anecdote for the team en route to another championship season. Quinn had signalled that she wasn't going to just shrug off being attacked, that she knew the game and was better at it, but what further purpose had striking the other girl had after that? Useless.
Katelynne slumped, all the energy dropping out of her legs.
This, though.
God, this feeling.
Her heart felt ready to burst out of her chest, racing a hundred, a thousand miles an hour. She couldn't hold the smile back any longer and didn't try. Only the caution of knowing others were still nearby prevented the laugh from bubbling up and ringing loud across the clearing. How was that, for wresting back some control? Quinn didn't have her own destiny in her hands, not yet, but she had choices, she had power. Was that alone the root of the rush, the excitement reverberating through her? Maybe, maybe not, but holding someone else's life in her grip—what a ride.
Her euphoria was rudely punctured by a yelling voice from the other side of the tree. Dammit. She'd done her best to muffle Katelynne, but her focus had been on subduing the resistance more than the noise, and Quinn wasn't certain she could have managed both simultaneously. Shotgun girl was going to be a problem—no, she was already a problem. Quinn had no idea what the effective range of a shotgun was, but it wasn't a gamble she was eager to take. Stepping out into the open was a bad plan, and not finishing what she started would sour the whole experience. Though, being torn to pieces by gunfire would do considerably worse than ruin the mood.
No guarantee that playing by the other girl's rules wouldn't have an identical result, though. She hadn't shot the other person on the scene, that was a small reassurance.
But really, there was only one sensible choice here.
"Don't shoot!" Quinn cried, pressing herself against the tree, holding Katelynne against her to prevent the deadweight slumping to the floor. She shifted her grip, then clamped back down with the squeeze around Katelynne's throat. Unconscious didn't mean dead, Quinn had a bit more work to do. "It's just Quinn!" she tried to inject a tremor into her voice. "V-varsity basketball?"
Quinn had jitters. She was giddy, wired up, her lips twitching as Katelynne's struggles weakened. This exceeded every idle imagining she'd ever had. How could she have imagined, even came close in her musings, closing her eyes and picturing how it'd be to ram a knife through someone's smug face the tenth time they quoted her own poetry at her? This went above and beyond the satisfaction she'd felt from avenging her injury from that girl in the basketball game. That was petty, a schoolyard squabble, a tiny incident that meant something for that one night and then was instantly a story, another anecdote for the team en route to another championship season. Quinn had signalled that she wasn't going to just shrug off being attacked, that she knew the game and was better at it, but what further purpose had striking the other girl had after that? Useless.
Katelynne slumped, all the energy dropping out of her legs.
This, though.
God, this feeling.
Her heart felt ready to burst out of her chest, racing a hundred, a thousand miles an hour. She couldn't hold the smile back any longer and didn't try. Only the caution of knowing others were still nearby prevented the laugh from bubbling up and ringing loud across the clearing. How was that, for wresting back some control? Quinn didn't have her own destiny in her hands, not yet, but she had choices, she had power. Was that alone the root of the rush, the excitement reverberating through her? Maybe, maybe not, but holding someone else's life in her grip—what a ride.
Her euphoria was rudely punctured by a yelling voice from the other side of the tree. Dammit. She'd done her best to muffle Katelynne, but her focus had been on subduing the resistance more than the noise, and Quinn wasn't certain she could have managed both simultaneously. Shotgun girl was going to be a problem—no, she was already a problem. Quinn had no idea what the effective range of a shotgun was, but it wasn't a gamble she was eager to take. Stepping out into the open was a bad plan, and not finishing what she started would sour the whole experience. Though, being torn to pieces by gunfire would do considerably worse than ruin the mood.
No guarantee that playing by the other girl's rules wouldn't have an identical result, though. She hadn't shot the other person on the scene, that was a small reassurance.
But really, there was only one sensible choice here.
"Don't shoot!" Quinn cried, pressing herself against the tree, holding Katelynne against her to prevent the deadweight slumping to the floor. She shifted her grip, then clamped back down with the squeeze around Katelynne's throat. Unconscious didn't mean dead, Quinn had a bit more work to do. "It's just Quinn!" she tried to inject a tremor into her voice. "V-varsity basketball?"
Katelynne did not stir.
The sounds in the underbrush had distracted Daria before she'd seen the distress her words had inflicted on Caroline: first she'd searched the treeline, then unconsciously moved closer to Caroline, to the safety that gun provided when it was turned on other people.
"Hear them? Hear who, exactly? Oh yeah, you think Carrie's gone off the deep end, hm?"
"Huh?" Daria looked at Caroline and saw...something. She didn't have words for that something; there was a wildness in her eyes, fear and rage in equal parts.
"I want to believe you're not making fun of me, that you're just scared, but what can I do? Sometimes I'd just like to die. What do I know of you? What role are you trying to play, here?"
The gun in her hand twitched up, even if it didn't quite come to bear on her. Daria stepped back, a shock of cold spreading slowly across her chest. "Wh...what are you..." Was she missing something? What had she said said? Had she said anything? What the hell did she mean by "roles?"
Crazy Carrie.
Shit, wait, she'd heard that somewhere before. Someone she knew in Mathalon, snorting and derisive, talking about some psycho girl. Crazy Carrie. Carrie like Caroline?
What was she supposed to have? How dangerous was she, with a gun in her hand and Daria in her sights?
Before Daria could make sense of what was happening, Caroline had turned with gun in hand, roaring with surprising volume and ferocity, calling out a challenge to the person in the treeline. There was a moment's terrible silence. Then short rustling sound, and a voice.
"It's just Quinn! V-varsity basketball?"
Daria's heart was pounding, and she tasted metal in the back of her throat. Her eyes flickered between the treeline and the woman in front of her. Dimly, distantly, she heard something off in Quinn's voice (she knew her vaguely, the scar a nice point of focus in a pretty face, a ramshackle girl who Daria had always found a little interesting), but too much of her attention was on Crazy Carrie with a gun in hand, accusing her of...what? Making fun of her? What the hell was she talking about.
Deep breath. In. Out. It's scary, but it's not their fault. It's not either of their faults.
Another deep breath (in, out), and she allowed herself to relax a little, shifting her position so she wasn't looking fully at Caroline. "Thanks, Caroline," she muttered out of the side of her mouth, trying to sound as sincere and unconcerned as possible. Then she raised her voice. "Everything okay over there, Quinn?"
"Hear them? Hear who, exactly? Oh yeah, you think Carrie's gone off the deep end, hm?"
"Huh?" Daria looked at Caroline and saw...something. She didn't have words for that something; there was a wildness in her eyes, fear and rage in equal parts.
"I want to believe you're not making fun of me, that you're just scared, but what can I do? Sometimes I'd just like to die. What do I know of you? What role are you trying to play, here?"
The gun in her hand twitched up, even if it didn't quite come to bear on her. Daria stepped back, a shock of cold spreading slowly across her chest. "Wh...what are you..." Was she missing something? What had she said said? Had she said anything? What the hell did she mean by "roles?"
Crazy Carrie.
Shit, wait, she'd heard that somewhere before. Someone she knew in Mathalon, snorting and derisive, talking about some psycho girl. Crazy Carrie. Carrie like Caroline?
What was she supposed to have? How dangerous was she, with a gun in her hand and Daria in her sights?
Before Daria could make sense of what was happening, Caroline had turned with gun in hand, roaring with surprising volume and ferocity, calling out a challenge to the person in the treeline. There was a moment's terrible silence. Then short rustling sound, and a voice.
"It's just Quinn! V-varsity basketball?"
Daria's heart was pounding, and she tasted metal in the back of her throat. Her eyes flickered between the treeline and the woman in front of her. Dimly, distantly, she heard something off in Quinn's voice (she knew her vaguely, the scar a nice point of focus in a pretty face, a ramshackle girl who Daria had always found a little interesting), but too much of her attention was on Crazy Carrie with a gun in hand, accusing her of...what? Making fun of her? What the hell was she talking about.
Deep breath. In. Out. It's scary, but it's not their fault. It's not either of their faults.
Another deep breath (in, out), and she allowed herself to relax a little, shifting her position so she wasn't looking fully at Caroline. "Thanks, Caroline," she muttered out of the side of her mouth, trying to sound as sincere and unconcerned as possible. Then she raised her voice. "Everything okay over there, Quinn?"
Those Whose Time Has Come]
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Terra Johnson (female student no. 73, DECEASED): Oh...duh...Abel's...dead...the one who...lives is...
Tom Swift (male student no. 60): It didn't matter what he wanted anymore.
Daria Bhatia (female student no. 56): "I pity you, and everyone who knows you. Because if you can live with this, I don't...I don't think you're human anymore.”
Caroline didn't stay still, she didn't dare. As Daria continued to keep close to Caroline, she could feel the fear in her heart rising in intensity. The sleek wood of the shotgun's handle felt slick against her clammy hands, and she had to keep adjusting her grip to keep it steady. Pressing it into her shoulder as tightly as she was able, she could feel her forearms trembling.
There were too many people, too many real people. Usually she relied on a few she could trust to tell what was real and what wasn't. Regina was good with that. She was kind, didn't judge Caroline for things she couldn't control. Would tell her if someone was really watching them from afar, or if the sound Caroline had heard was actually there. It helped to have someone like that to trust.
Here? There was no telling what motivations these girls both had. If they knew what was wrong with Caroline, they probably wanted to take advantage of her. Probably thought she was gullible. Impaired. Unable to live like some kind of normal person. Maybe they'd found out she had been worried about the people trying to claw their way out of her schoolbag during exams. She didn't tell anyone about that, it was a delusion. She'd been okay back home. There was no telling how they might've found out, though.
The Arthro Taskforce did go through their bags after all. They probably let those people out, Caroline reasoned. Told them all about how they were doing the right thing by putting her in Survival of the Fittest, that she deserved it. Probably regaled Danya with all they knew about her desires, the things Carrie didn't dare tell her parents or bishop about. Were the terrorists prudish or prejudiced, though? It probably didn't matter, it wasn't like they needed a motivation to kill teenagers.
"Varsity basketball?" Caroline sidestepped towards the tree where the voice was coming from, the one that she could tell the direction of. There were others, but they always seemed to come from within things. Skin, dirt, shotgun shells. This one had a name - Quinn - and a face, from what Caroline could only vaguely remember.
"I don't see a court." She said flatly. "How do I know that's-"
As she rounded the tree, a look of concern spread across her face. On some level, she understood she had seen Quinn trying to strangle another girl, holding her to a tree as she tried to simultaneously de-escalate the situation. That wasn't what Caroline saw, however.
Instead, the more she focused on the scene the more she became acquainted with every nightmarish detail. Quinn's hands weren't as a murderer or a fiend, but a lover. She caressed the other girl's face with one hand as the other was buried almost to the elbow in a fleshy, malformed oriface that had formed in her neck. Despite the tears of blood and red stains on her teeth, the other girl was writhing in some kind of pleasure, her moans unable to escape the morass of spit, bile, and blood that was dripping from her lips. Quinn's face conveyed the same kind of desperation the wavering in her voice had done so. Unfortunately, her eyes weren't where they should have been. There were so many holes.
Doing what any sane person would have done if they stumbled upon such a scene, Caroline squeezed the trigger on the shotgun. Her world went gray as smoke, fire, and recoil overwhelmed her senses.
There were too many people, too many real people. Usually she relied on a few she could trust to tell what was real and what wasn't. Regina was good with that. She was kind, didn't judge Caroline for things she couldn't control. Would tell her if someone was really watching them from afar, or if the sound Caroline had heard was actually there. It helped to have someone like that to trust.
Here? There was no telling what motivations these girls both had. If they knew what was wrong with Caroline, they probably wanted to take advantage of her. Probably thought she was gullible. Impaired. Unable to live like some kind of normal person. Maybe they'd found out she had been worried about the people trying to claw their way out of her schoolbag during exams. She didn't tell anyone about that, it was a delusion. She'd been okay back home. There was no telling how they might've found out, though.
The Arthro Taskforce did go through their bags after all. They probably let those people out, Caroline reasoned. Told them all about how they were doing the right thing by putting her in Survival of the Fittest, that she deserved it. Probably regaled Danya with all they knew about her desires, the things Carrie didn't dare tell her parents or bishop about. Were the terrorists prudish or prejudiced, though? It probably didn't matter, it wasn't like they needed a motivation to kill teenagers.
"Varsity basketball?" Caroline sidestepped towards the tree where the voice was coming from, the one that she could tell the direction of. There were others, but they always seemed to come from within things. Skin, dirt, shotgun shells. This one had a name - Quinn - and a face, from what Caroline could only vaguely remember.
"I don't see a court." She said flatly. "How do I know that's-"
As she rounded the tree, a look of concern spread across her face. On some level, she understood she had seen Quinn trying to strangle another girl, holding her to a tree as she tried to simultaneously de-escalate the situation. That wasn't what Caroline saw, however.
Instead, the more she focused on the scene the more she became acquainted with every nightmarish detail. Quinn's hands weren't as a murderer or a fiend, but a lover. She caressed the other girl's face with one hand as the other was buried almost to the elbow in a fleshy, malformed oriface that had formed in her neck. Despite the tears of blood and red stains on her teeth, the other girl was writhing in some kind of pleasure, her moans unable to escape the morass of spit, bile, and blood that was dripping from her lips. Quinn's face conveyed the same kind of desperation the wavering in her voice had done so. Unfortunately, her eyes weren't where they should have been. There were so many holes.
Doing what any sane person would have done if they stumbled upon such a scene, Caroline squeezed the trigger on the shotgun. Her world went gray as smoke, fire, and recoil overwhelmed her senses.
Quinn's arms were growing tired and she was a little preoccupied to start checking pulses. This would have been so much easier if she had a worthwhile weapon. You didn't slowly but surely cut a person's throat. Ah, but she shouldn't let herself spoil the moment by complaining. There was already somebody waiting in the wings to cut this short, so she had to savour it while it lasted. She could concern herself with better equipment at a later date. She shifted her feet, planting them to allow her to strain upwards, cranking back on Katelynne's neck. Quinn didn't have the numbers for asphyxiation offhand, so she just had to stick to strangulation for as long as she dared. Either it would be enough or it wouldn't.
She was running on a timer, certainly. The voice of the newer girl was showing concern, and either way Quinn answered her question would lead to exposure. Easier to continue to pretend nothing untoward was happening.
However, before Quinn had an opportunity to respond, the shotgunner spoke up with a strange comment. Was Quinn supposed to play basketball to demonstrate her sincerity? Clearly, she'd spoken of the sport because it was the link most would immediately associate her with. Was the girl trying to make a joke, or was she just dense? Either way, she was the one with the gun. A very pertinent point as the girl's voice was far closer than it had been before, close enough that her arrival was imminent. She was circling the tree. Damn it all! There wasn't enough time for her to move away.
Shotgun girl came into view. Quinn looked over at her. Hand in the cookie jar.
"She was—"
The gun went off with a reverberating boom. Quinn couldn't help flinching. Wood splintered and a shower of debris rained down onto her, but there was no pain, no blood. Quinn was unharmed.
She shoved Katelynne's inert body away from her, darted a quarter-circle further around the tree trunk, and sprinted for the treeline.
She was running on a timer, certainly. The voice of the newer girl was showing concern, and either way Quinn answered her question would lead to exposure. Easier to continue to pretend nothing untoward was happening.
However, before Quinn had an opportunity to respond, the shotgunner spoke up with a strange comment. Was Quinn supposed to play basketball to demonstrate her sincerity? Clearly, she'd spoken of the sport because it was the link most would immediately associate her with. Was the girl trying to make a joke, or was she just dense? Either way, she was the one with the gun. A very pertinent point as the girl's voice was far closer than it had been before, close enough that her arrival was imminent. She was circling the tree. Damn it all! There wasn't enough time for her to move away.
Shotgun girl came into view. Quinn looked over at her. Hand in the cookie jar.
"She was—"
The gun went off with a reverberating boom. Quinn couldn't help flinching. Wood splintered and a shower of debris rained down onto her, but there was no pain, no blood. Quinn was unharmed.
She shoved Katelynne's inert body away from her, darted a quarter-circle further around the tree trunk, and sprinted for the treeline.