Aston Bennett was sure. She did not want to know the reasons why. A waste of a bullet, yet again. It must have been that slim shred of pity that wiggled it's way out from her iron cage that forced her to shoot. Who knows.
All she knew was that Aston wasn't a complete monster. That was for damn sure.
To say that Aston had seen everything would be an understatement. She was practically there, only inches away from the mayhem. She tried to talk herself into going out. Held herself back. Would do her no good. Best to stay out of it. She was glad for it.
And to think. It took a slaughter for her to realize the piles of bodies that had been there for days.
Was she daydreaming when she came to the Parish? Was she still in that dream, just more self-aware?
. . . she didn't have the answer to that. Couldn't even guess.
Aston hated sleep, especially here. She couldn't tell her dreams from her nightmares.
The field, a sickly shade of green, covered in blood. Aston did not sneak out. She waited until she couldn't take the silence anymore. The door was open, silent and unnerving, eyes studying the layout. Her Mosin-Nagant was back in her hands. She had her things, prepared for a fight.
She never found that fight. Instead she found the boy.
A wounded boy who was not at all dead. Aston was surprised. Wasn't he supposed to be dead? How the hell could he still be alive, after all of that?
She reached her hand out
Only a few inches away.
Pulled the trigger once.
Didn't need a second.
Aston Bennett tried to convince herself that putting a bullet in his back was the biggest favor she could have given him. She knew that wasn't her reason why. She tried not to think of the real reason. She was afraid that there was no reason. The thought, the idea, the concept of her going off the cuff and killing anyone scared her deeply.
There was a reason, but again it scared her to consider it.
She didn't want to trust this one, just to end up killing him anyway. Would hurt too much. And she wasn't sure whether he would kill
her if she made herself known. Too much of a risk. Had to be the reason. Had to.
No. Aston. Don't think about it.
It was the best decision. At the time.
... Besides, what the hell was she supposed to do? Patch him up? Carry him around? Craft a makeshift wheelchair out of treebark? Become a protector? A savior? A hero? He would have nothing to give her. He wasn't a friend, a sibling, a lover. Nothing to her. He had to prove himself in order to gain her trust. No rewards other than decreasing her odds of winning and a brief feeling of pride. Aston Bennett was many things, but she wasn't a good-doer boy scout who got off for helping old women across streets. She was not evil either. No joy from killing him. No one had the right to judge her. She wanted to do good.
She closed her eyes.
So just because he was still alive did not mean she had to let him live. Her mind went numb just thinking about it. She couldn't have let him live. What if he survived until the end? What was she supposed to do then? Kill him? What if she couldn't bring herself to kill him? If she hesitated? If she held back What then? What if he started crying and begged for her to let him live?! What then?! Was she supposed to feel remorse?! Take pity on the weakling, who she didn't even talk to in school?! Was she just supposed to let the wounded motherfucker win after she lost so much?! Or was she supposed to turn into a monster and cut the ties?! At least the fucking monster gets to live!
Gasping like a fish out of water. Held her hand against her heart. Calmed herself.
There were no signs of anyone else in the area. She waited anyway, just to get a grip on things. Then she did the only thing that made sense, at the time.
She started looking through the leftovers.
The same twinge of guilt that struck her as she robbed Joe. Made her feel like coughing up. She killed it as fast as she killed the crippled boy. It did no good. She shut that part of her out.
Food. Water. Med kits.
Most importantly, there were guns and other weapons. Plenty.
The boy she had killed had one, she pocketed it. It was small, but it was a gun. He had a magic 8 ball and a sledgehammer too. No way in hell she was taking a chance on those pieces of crap. She turned to the boy with the opened up throat and found two more guns. One was a revolver. She liked the look of it. Holding it made her feel like a hero. It had no bullets in it, and Aston had to spend a minute reloading it. She kept that out, weighing the Mosin-Nagant in the crook of her arm. The other was a machine gun. It was empty. This one was a strange one, keeping two empty guns on him. Maybe he expected to bash someone's head open. Or maybe he didn't plan on killing anyone. Just like her. Lot of good that did her, keeping that mindset.
The last had a gun too. Put that one in her bag. Aston figured he was the one who spoke to her. She recognized him, but she couldn't recall his name. At least she would have made his death quick, if the circumstances were right. His gun was okay. Found a sword too. She fashioned it next to her Naginata. It was heavy, but it fit in with the makeshift sword. It worked.
That's when she saw it. Saw 'it'. At first she had no idea what it was. It looked like a gun. She wasn't sure of that. Could be a toy, for all she knew. Regardless, she let her other rifle lay on the ground and picked up the new one. It was big enough to fit in both of her hands, at the very least. She studied it for a moment. Regarded the big shoulder, the small barrel. Looked through the sight. A sniper rifle? A machine gun? Both? She hoped it was both.
Aston told herself to cut off her emotions a million times over. Despite that, she couldn't help grinning.
This. This was why she held back. It was badass. The gun looked nasty, like it was made to kill people. She was Rambo, drilling bullets into countless enemy soldiers. She didn't want to do that. Wanted to kill as few people as possible. However, the gun felt great to hold in her hands. It was a gift, to her, for being so dedicated. The powers that be (if they even existed) were behind her. Aston had a chance.
Then she pulled the trigger. Empty.
Fuck.
She found the other magazine in the boy's pocket. She reloaded, clicked the safety on just in case she accidentally fired. She looked down at her other rifle. She didn't want to leave it, just in case someone came along and took it. Aston couldn't have that. It could end up being used on her. A little extra weight wouldn't kill her, for now.
She thought that. Until she found the katana.
It was the same one that cut open the boy's neck. She was certain.
Aston was confused. This was the attacker's sword, right? Why would they leave it behind? She didn't ask questions. She picked it up, weighed it in her hands. She decided she was keeping it. She dropped the scythe, put the other sword in there. Now she had the katana and Joe's sword, so Joe could fight with her.
Joe would want this, she promised herself. They all would. You weren't a hero, or a saint, you're doing bad things to people. But at the expense of your own soul, you can make the souls of the dead rest easy. She made a promise to them too. Joshua, Alice, Joe and the three dead boys. When she saw the girl with the cut in her face, she would make sure to lance something off. Maybe more than one body part. Who knows? Aston found the thought perfectly rational and not at all crazed. Sounded perfectly understandable. An eye for an eye... Well, she could worry about that monster after she found the girl who killed Joe and made
her suffer. Other girl should be glad she wasn't the bitch who killed Joe, damn glad that she was getting better treatment. Her death would be a night at the Marriott in comparison.
Not that revenge was the biggest thing on her plate.
It was all about survival, she reminded herself.
Scolded herself for thinking otherwise.
Fucking idiot.
Revolver in one pocket, Bersa Thunder in the other. Swords behind her, bloodstained and ready. Two pistols in her bag, a rifle and a sword with a curve. And lastly was the rifle. She would make sure to read the documentation. Use every bullet wisely. Like each one was the last one.
Three down. Plenty to go.
Aston Bennett was close. Close wasn't going to cut it. Perhaps with this rifle, the odds were in her favor. She figured. She hoped.
(Aston Bennett continued in
Finalizing Plans)