It Matters if We All Live

[Maraoone]

Some part of Britnee knew, at the very least, that Hannah and Rebecca were here, that they existed, that they too were undergoing their own nervous breakdowns, and like, girl, get in line, all 10 people on this boat were doing that, find your own lane. Go make a motivation speech to the camera, say goodbye to your family or whatever, find something else to do, God.

And, like, it was grating, it was annoying because their mere presence just demanded so much attention and they didn't matter, these fucking strangers didn't matter to her. Not when Diana was right here.

Diana and Britnee ran in the same circles in high school, had been in the same circles since middle school, at least. It was hard to say what differentiated her from all the other friends Britnee had. Diana was into parties, but so was everyone she bothered acknowledging on a daily basis. Diana liked fashion, but so did every popular girl. She guessed that reading was their thing, but that was superficial. They talked about books sometimes, yeah, but the beret girl upstairs, Jodi, was probably into books too, and did she give a fuck about her? No.

If you put a gun against her head — unfortunate choice of metaphor, but whatever — and asked her to really put a name to it, as to what drew Britnee to Diana, more than anyone else, the most she could say was that she felt real. She felt real. When you were well-known, you had to put on a bit of an image, as did everyone else in these circles. At least attempt to be respectable, even if you fail sometimes. And so there were barriers, there were facades you had to put up for everyone. You ask a girl 'How are you' and they say 'Fine' with a chirpy tone and a smile and that was it. But, you ask Diana 'How are you,' and you hear her entire day, hear about the latest poor decision she'd made, hear her talk shit about this girl or that girl, she would tell you everything. And vice versa.

She gave Hannah and Rebecca the attention they desired anyways. A tilt of the head, 'Hiiiii!' and nothing more, she hadn't really been paying attention to what they said. Diana had taken care of that anyways. She gave them their attention because, if you didn't at the very least say hi, then you were just another popular bitch passing people by in the hallways. The social order of Mangrove hadn't dissolved just yet, not in the very opening seconds, and she needed it to stay that way for a bit. She needed familiar things for now.

All of a sudden, Diana pulled her in, she whispered, and- oh.

Her heart broke.

"Fuck you," Britnee whispered back. "You're about to make me cry." Pained smile. She didn't know if she was joking or not.

There was a thud, someone shrieked, Britnee shook a little. It didn't sound like murder, but that wasn't a sure bet anymore.

She took hold of Diana's arm, gave it a little squeeze.

"Let's get out of here, yeah?"

And that's what they did. They walked together past the erasers, up the stairs, off the trawler, looking side to side a bit just to make sure no one was, in fact, being murdered — no blood, no gunshots, just Genevieve awkwardly standing by herself, Jodi off God knows where — and then they were off to the jetties.

There was an alternate universe where no one else stepped off this boat alive. There was an alternate universe where Britnee didn't step off this boat alive. There was an alternate universe where Britnee stepped off the boat the leader of this ragtag group of five or six girls. She hadn't decided yet. She hadn't had the time to decide yet because she'd just woken up and all of a sudden her best friend was stuck here with her but also her best friend was here.

The other girls didn't matter right now. All she knew was that Diana was with her, was on the same team as her.

All she knew was that they'd take care of themselves.

((Britnee Joyner and Diana McIntyre continue in ))

[Tapey]

"Ehh... not too bad really. Though it did smell a little." Hannah briefly answered Diana, her tone still slightly shaky due to nervousness. She was not expecting the others to talk to her about anything else other than returning a simple hello. She did not mind the extra attention, however, especially when it came from social butterflies like Diana. Her plan was simple: Act friendly to them, and find a way to get out of here before things got way uglier.

Then what happened after confused Hannah, a lot. First, Diana went and whispered something towards Britnee, though she could not hear any of the contents. Probably just some stuff between them, they were pretty close even before the game, after all.

Next was an earsplitting shriek coming from the upper deck, following by a loud thud. The sudden deafening cries scared Hannah, as she could felt her knees slightly weakened. She turned her gaze upwards to the direction where the sound came from, wondering where did the ungodly scream came from.

Though there was one thing that she was definitely sure of: There are still more people on the ship, which meant a larger risk for her to get into fights.

Before she could even react, Britnee and Diana were already gone, leaving her and Rebecca in a very awkward scenario. She felt relieved, however, knowing that instead of three, she had only one person to deal with.

But still, should she approach her? Rebecca seemed a bit too nervous to do anything, and Hannah could definitely need an ally right now. However, she was also aware of them not being in the same team, and there was a slight chance of the girl attempting to ambush her with whatever weapon she's hiding. Even if a duel happened and she managed to survive, she still had to deal with the people from the upper deck, who she was not sure if they were hostile.

A few minutes had passed since Britnee and Diana left the quarters. The awkward silence was starting to make Hannah pretty uncomfortable.

She knew she had to get out of here. Right now.

Hurriedly, she gave a slight, polite nod to Rebecca, and scooted off to the upper deck. Once she reached there, she took a quick glance at the other girls, none of which had the same bandana as hers, and was that...a blunderbuss?

Alright, fuck this, I'm out.

Not wanting to take the risk of fighting someone with actual firearms, she proceeded to rush out of the trawler. The blunderbuss was the final reason she needed to leave the place, especially when it was in the hands of someone from the other teams.

Though where would she go after this? She had completely no idea, to be frank, but she hoped that luck would finally be on her side, and she would meet someone else who she could trust
being with.

(Hannah Choi continued elsewhere...)

[Lord_Shadow]

((Edited to clarify, done with permission from MethodicalSlacker))

Yeah that made sense. Large groups invite drama on SOTF and drama was not what she needed.

Problem was that she wasn't great in small groups. No crowd meant nowhere to slink off into when the spotlight came calling.

Still, maybe Jodi could be enough. Genevieve nodded when Jodi told her the plan, as much as it could be called one.

Then she said not to freak out.

Then she pulled out a gun, a big gun.

More importantly, a real gun.

Teaming up with Jodi suddenly made a lot more sense, even if just the two of them.

And that was when something happened and Jodi fell over.

"Oh my God." Genevieve started going over to help, when she noticed two girls rush out and leave the area. "The fuck?"

Then another girl rushed out. "W-what?"

Words failed her, but thankfully her observation skills didn't. Jodi had pulled something or something had twisted or broken or some other shit when she tried to lift the damn gun.

An injury, even a minor one, was not good. Being in a large group was not good. Being in a small group was not good for Gen specifically. All not good things.

Gen knew a thing or two from being a part of a crowd, especially at parties. The major thing she knew was that you didn't want to be the poor sap who left last. Everyone else starts leaving, you do too.

Time to bail?

Time to bail. Sorry Jodi, better luck next time. Someone else might be willing to risk it, but not Gen. Not with survival at stake.

That left two options, with their pros and cons.

Option 1: Turn and go, say goodbye or something at least and maybe hope to God never to see Jodi again.
Pros: Gets out fast, maybe catch up with the others.
Cons: Make an enemy for sure, possibly get shot in the fucking back. Can't outrun bullets after all.

Option 2: Take the gun first, then bail.
Pros: Don't get shot in the back.
Cons: Make an enemy for sure, but then again see Option 1.

The choice was simple. The choice was made. No one to rely on but herself, she would have to be strong for once.

"Jodi, are you hurt?" Fake concern, fake smile. "Need some help with that?" Hand reaching for the gun.

Too far forward, faceplant from shifting weight thanks to pack. "Fuck!"

One look, panic. Get the gun, get out. Don't get shot. Don't die.

A lunge for it.

Dear God, please don't let me get shot.

[MethodicalSlacker]

Jodi soothed her back as Genevieve came into the room, asking if she was alright.

Maybe Jodi's head was spinning, but she could have sworn she heard a lot more footsteps following behind her.

"Ow," was all she could say in response, as she rubbed her back.

Genevieve was lowering herself to the ground.

Jodi felt her breath catch in her throat, then went bug-eyed⁶³.

"Wait—"

It was all she could do to pull herself an inch forward off the back wall before Genevieve fell face first onto the ground.

Her doubt redoubled itself⁶⁴.

Then, Genevieve got back up and went for the gun again.

"—wait no! Stop! Don't!"

Jodi pulled her arms out from under the straps of her bag.

Genevieve had her hands on one end of the gun already.

Jodi was drowning. She had been drowning since she woke up. These were not waters she knew how to swim in. The waves ran thick, green-black and brackish. It was only a manner of time.

But fate had smiled upon her. In these unfamiliar waters, there was, bobbing up and down next to her, a life preserver. She could steal just a few more days of precious life if she just clung to it, as tightly as possible, and never let go.

Genevieve was going to take her life preserver away.

Jodi, shivering in a sweat of adrenaline and rage, threw all of her puny weight forward onto the other end of the unloaded⁶⁵ blunderbuss.

"Let go of my gun you thieving BITCH!"

---

[+] Footnotes

[63] She wasn't sure what she was bug-eyed with, yet. Maybe Genevieve was bending over to help her pick up the gun. Maybe she was going to lay it in Jodi's lap or something. Then she thought no, that was also bad, that would keep her pinned to the floor for good.

[64] Because who would get up after that and try to steal again, right? That was going to knock sense into anyone, even the most heartless of people, even the cruelest and most callous would have to look inside themselves and soul search after a pratfall, right?

[65] It didn't come that way, but Jodi had taken all of the bullets out. Just in case it went off by accident and someone was in the way. She didn't want that to happen. Not before now.

[Lord_Shadow]

Things were not going smoothly. Gen could admit to that, it was her fault after all. What she wouldn't accept however, was that this bitch could hang on so tightly after a fall like that. Like seriously, how was that even possible?

"Let go whore! Goddamn it!"

She tried twisting the gun away from her. Something had to give and Genevieve hoped it would be Jodi's grip.

"Just fucking let go!"

Option 2 did not seem to be going so well.

Somehow, that wasn't a surprise.

[MethodicalSlacker]

Jodi held on for dear life. She lay on her belly on the floor and had the end of the gun under both of her hands, stacked one atop the other, pressing down as hard as she could⁶⁶.

"No!"

Genevieve twisted the gun side to side, threatening to loosen it from Jodi's grasp.

There was no more weight to put on it. This would have to be enough. It must be enough.

"My gun," she panted, "give it back!"

But she could already feel it slipping out of her fingers.

---

[+] Footnotes

[66] Behind her, Jodi's feet kicked out and up and down and swept across the floor wildly in an attempt to find something, anything to hook Jodi to; a place fit to drop the anchor so that she could pull the gun back. They found only air.

[Lord_Shadow]

It was over, finally. Thank Christ. She wrenched the gun away with a surge of strength.

This stupid bitch wasn't gonna make it anyway. Better for Gen to have the gun, she could actually make it. If things got too hot she could always run anyway. Not like the lump on the ground could do that.

Genevieve was angry, so very angry. This cost her time, she might not catch up to anyone now. She looked over the pathetic loser in front of her.

"I need it more than you do."

Best to put her out of her misery now. She flipped the gun into position, pointed, and fired.






And nothing happened.



THAT FUCKING BITCH. Genevieve's expression was a mixture or shock and disbelief.

Fuck this. Fuck her. Fuck life. Fuck everything.

She turned without another word and ran.

At least she didn't get shot.

((Genevieve Erickson continued elsewhere))

[MethodicalSlacker]

Jodi fell forward onto her face as the gun was pulled out from under her. She yelped and swiped at the air in front of her with a curled fist. Nothing. The punch swung empty, her hand drew back against the floor, but not to spite her face—soon Jodi had brought herself back to cusp her swollen nose against her face.

She looked up at Genevieve just as she tried to put her out, watched her face twist into horror at the gun's vacant click, saw her as she turned and walked in rage from the cabin. Jodi's mouth opened and a sound came out, only to be cut off by a fit of dusty coughs. A low cloud floated in her lungs. Harsh and unending, the dust lifted from the floorboards at the impact of her own face, and came into herself at the same time. Paralyzed with pain, Jodi writhed on the ground as the strain in her back pulled tighter with each hack like a knifepoint wedged between the ends of her ribcage.

Genevieve was long gone by the time she was done. The sky looked to Jodi to be a darker kind of blue. She sat almost motionless on the floor of the cabin, unmoving save for the soothing touch of her fingers on her swollen nose. Her pack was on the other end of the room against the broken shelves. Inside were anti-inflammatory drugs and water. Some pain relieving gel, too, if memory served.

If only she could reach it⁶⁷.

Jodi strained forward against herself. Her throat felt empty. Hunger set in, and against it she became aware of her collar for only the second time.

"What?" she wheezed.

That was all; a sputtering cough rose, a straggler in the dark. Jodi let it pass purposefully. The sob that followed was a rat errant beneath the shadow of an open door opened upon a field in the night. A strange lightness in the dark.

And then she was silent again, and her fingers rubbed her nose once more.

---

[+] Open Footnotes

[67] She wanted to scream.

[Irina Ivanov]

Diana expressed the exact reaction that Rebecca preferred. A light-hearted response. However genuine or not. She indicated a smile and let out a humorous chuckle. Although itt sounded little so. (It was not a characteristic Rebecca could decide on on, anyhow.)

Rebecca could chill, ever so gently. She locked the remaining locker that provided little more then a space to avoid the other student's gazes. There was nothing in this trawler, nothing that would hurt her, but nothing that would help her either. The basket, more of a compensation then a weapon, was dead weight. If she did not find a weapon soon, she would be far more dead.

No. Negative. Contestants, have won games with the most laughable of joke weapons. Kill even, but not even her cigars would help, (Murder was alright, arson was a death sentence.) and Rebecca was not at the point of despair to open a box of wine or adult magazines. (She never will.)

Noise. Voices. She looked up. There were more people. More sound. Rebecca witnessed two of these people whisper. Silent. There was an gesture suggesting intimacy. Then, from another area. An exclamation of pain. Continued whispers. Focus, focus Rebecca, prepare to run out of the fishing trawler. If so needed. The two contestants moved. Deep breaths.

The two girls who embraced, vacated the area, and then, so did another girl in the corner that she had not seen before. (Hannah?) Rebecca felt her breathing become stable again. Like a out-of-control animal reigned in through sheer force of will. Keeping a cool head was one of the keys to unlocking the temperamental lock of SOTF survival, especially when the social weather outside was slightly more temperamental then the word could describe. Rebecca would stay in the shadows, in the corner of the decks below. In the ruckus, she did truly feel like a ship ghost or poltergeist, unnoticed.

And what did the silent poltergeist do while the world went mad above? Gaze at the cameras, mute and still. She opened her mouth to say something to the faceless masses, but closed it just as swiftly. Watched the cameras just like past her would have watched them. Granted, if Rebecca spoke, past-Rebecca would have called her Clive 2.0 and switched perspectives. Both of them always preferred doing over saying.

And Rebecca proceeded to do so. The basket dead-weight was ripped from the backpack, into her hands. It did not deserve to be in the same space as the med-kit and sextant anyways. It deserved more to be in the waters.

The sounds of roughhousing, of swearing were familiar, but only through the filtered, sterile sound of the television. Anyhow. That made no difference, Rebecca knew what to do in the situation anyways. If anything, this was a bit like...testing the waters. Anyone who didn't involve themselves in at least one fight in SOTF was an anyone who didn't deserve the title of winning, and Rebecca wasn't the type to lie to herself. She was going to get involved in a fight at some point as well.

It was that Rebecca was just so lucky that she wasn't the girl seconds away from, hm, stepping over into the afterlife with a bang. A few more seconds, there would a gunshot, then a scream.

Neither arrived, leaving only silence.

It made Rebecca feel awfully strange, as foolish as that sounded. She was completely blind to the situation outside, there was no scream to herald a death, nor a negotiation to confirm temporary peace. A few footsteps that faded out almost instantly was the unremarkable substitute. Rebecca was not sure what occurred completely (She was half-sure either both, or half of the two ran away into the darkness.), which was a feeling she should get used to, but it still made her uneasy in such an irrational manner.

Even without a lake of blood, the fumes of death or a corpse, some people who are more sensitive would maybe call the air thick still. She went upstairs and in her peripherals, there was the other girl on the other side of the cabin. Stopped, observed.

Their bandannas were incompatibly coloured, and considering the lack of a gun Jodi had, Rebecca only hypothesized that the other girl Genevieve, had taken it. She did not know who this presumably pained contestant was. Rebecca found her to be rather pathetic, if she was going to be honest, a mouse-like girl who even Rebecca could probably beat in a fight, or at least push.

She could...


Rebecca stood.

Not daring to move, simply watching.

"If you're not able to get up, perhaps you should maybe try and move to a hiding spot."

Rebecca felt nothing from her heart asides from clockwork heartbeats, but her head spun itself whole trains of thoughts. Might be unable to get up. She's in pain. Just go. Might backstab. Do it. The sea. Bag near. Not your team. Why? Do it. Not the sort of person. Liar. Stop.

"I, I am not sure who said it. But, someone asked for alcohol with the pencil erasers. I-It might take away the pain. At least."

Rebecca crouched down and pushed the basket with the box wine and Hustlers across the room.

[MethodicalSlacker]

Jodi watched silently as Rebecca appeared in the doorway. She was saying something, but Jodi was having a hard time making out the words past the ringing in her ears.

Part of her hoped this was it. Any hope she had of making it out had disappeared with the gun, and Genevieve. She would begin and end on this fishing boat. If she could get a final sermon before a bullet in her skull, sure. Let her talk. Jodi's gaze wandered up to the ceiling of the cabin and stopped on a vein of rust in the metal. The brown color reminded her of dried blood.

Rebecca kept talking. Jodi thought that was strange. If she was going to kill her, she would have done so already. This was a long speech. Jodi had been sitting there a long time. When would it be over?

Something light and fast made a skidding noise and then touched against her outstretched arm. Some things. Collected in a wicker basket. A consolation prize. Jodi moved her head slowly, and peeked inside.

Porn. Cigs. Booze.

A smile wriggled across her busted lips. Slowly, as if waking up from a dream, Jodi looked back up at Rebecca.

"Thanks," she murmured, "and now I guess I probably owe you something."⁶⁸

---

[+] Footnotes

[68] Now she just wanted to throw up.

[Irina Ivanov]

Rebecca stood up, and did not move or respond to the contestant she observed. She breathed out a sigh, and smothered an irrational, mental giggle with a locking of her vocal cords.

There was a grand design somewhere, in the hundreds of tangible and non-tangible designs Rebecca had curated and created. It told of artful murders and delicately hand-picked, ten little soldiers. Picked off by a blade or a bullet by a Miss Rebecca Nancy Owen. It was a beautiful design, meticulously worked on ever since SOTF planted itself in Rebecca's mind.

Its timely beauty made it untouchable. Unreplicable. It was unthinkable to enact it now.

'It's just dead weight.' Rebecca suppressed what she was about to say. It was correct, even despite Rebecca's wishes. Girl SB01 stated that she owed a debt to Rebecca. If Rebecca interpreted it as her giving dead weight such as alcohol and smoking (She had no past exposure to drinking or smoking.) to dead weight, then Jodi owed nothing to her. Else, if it was something of value, Jodi had nothing of value to give in return.

There was of course, a third possibility. The debt would be skewed heavily towards Rebecca, but repaid.

But it was nearly unthinkable.

"Possibly."

It came to her there was a fourth possibility. The debt Jodi owed Rebecca would be dis-appropriate. But, the condition of the other contestant. Weak. Weaponless. Perhaps,the fact the third option was not chosen. Perhaps, it was, a debt SB01 was required to return, in of itself. Rebecca turned towards the door, without blinking. Then she turned to an area close to her.

She seized the backpack. Her hands did not falter as she held it by the handles. Her eyes were on the exit.

[MethodicalSlacker]

Dread shook like a finger at the center of Jodi's throat.

It is happening again.⁶⁹

She forgot the stitch of pain in her back just long enough to slap her palm down loudly against the surface of the desk behind her. With a grunt, she tried to lift herself off of the ground.

If there was a time to learn, it was now. Lift with your legs, Jodi.

"Wait!" she shouted, "I mean, hold on, you're getting, I was thinking we couldtradethingsmaybeputitdownpleaseIhavethingsIcangiveyouwithoutyou—owwwwww—"

Her back felt like the doors to a cuckoo clock, ready to burst open and scream her hour, past-due. Still she pressed on her palm against the desk and lifted from her flat sprawl to sit on her knees, then to crouch against her stationary crutch upon the balls of her feet. If Rebecca ran, Jodi would not be able to catch up. She imagined herself getting to the edge of the trawler before she tipped over the edge and slid off the side of the hull into the deep waters below. But while death for her was certain, someday, a hasty one was not. She only had one option⁷⁰.

"—take my squid, and my sushi," Jodi continued, trying to keep the fear from her voice, "my seaweed, a loaf of my bread, a box of crackers, my gatorade, my rum, my map, the condom Durex whatever thing⁷¹, and then put it down. You don't want to carry any more with you than that. Trust me. It'll be a liability more than a it'll help to you, because my clothes are too small, I don't have a gun, the bullets are useless without it really they aren't bullets they're more like really small rocks and won't work in anything else really you don't have to take them just grab the food and put it down and, and, and—"

She put a hand over her mouth and turned to face away. The other one held glass by the neck.

"—and then get out before I have the chance to throw a bottle⁷² of wine at you. And I won't miss, because I, I played softball. And I'm good at throwing. And you've been kind to me to give me these things, and I don't want to have to hurt you."

Her eyes stung wet. There was a whole third hand inside her throat now. Squeezing.

---

[+] Footnotes

[69] It is happening again.

[70] And that was probably the biggest point in her favor. Her options were bargain, or die. The decision was made for her.

[71] Jodi knew what it was. It wasn't hers. No way. Someone was meant to get two and instead got only one. They did not give that to Jodi. No.

[72] Bottle? It was a box. She couldn't really throw a box of wine at Rebecca, could she? Maybe she wouldn't notice that was what it was.

But Jodi had the basket in plain view, and it was pointless.

[Irina Ivanov]

She was not quick enough. Rebecca felt little, since she had been steeling herself up for this, and steel was not a metal that broke easily under shock, especially if it had an almost laughably long preparation time. She did not appear to breathe as she loosened her grip on the backpack. No. Don't do that. She kept her grip tight. And assessed the other contestant.

She did not appear to be in a state to stand, let alone attack. Rebecca tilted her head accordingly, with a queried expresion as the mousy girl bargained. It seemed nearly like she was bargaining for her life. Rebecca didn't quite comprehend where the fear came from, and certainly not why it sprouted so quickly and strongly. But she could certainly detect it, it wasn't hard to notice the growing quickness of her words, or the rapid, haphazard method of which the girl supported herself.

Even without the bargaining, Rebecca knew the girl was sleeping with the fishes in short order. This was a delay, not a stave off from the other contestant. The only...the only variable was from whom, and when.

She sounded so metallic. Cruel, perhaps. No she didn't. She was being the antonym of 'cruel.'

"Well. The med-kit is not a liability for me at all. The water isn't either." Stop speaking. Unzip personal backpack. Place both on the floor.

She retrieved the contents. The contents SB01 had gave permission for. There was little that was practical, outside of the food, Rebecca had always had a distaste for the liquid known as gatorade. She took the 'classic' favour nonetheless. A drink was a drink. Creating more animosity for taste preference was immature, and a breaking of the trade. Potentially dangerous if SB01 got their weapon back. Alright. Squid. Sushi. Three packages of seaweed. One loaf. One con-

....

That was a box. Rebecca might not be omniscient, but she did have 20/20 vision, and that was not a bottle. Sure, a box was better then nothing, but it's such a small benefit, Rebecca had determined it was actually a burden on storage space on both her trains of thought and on her backpack. Still. She did not have a weapon. For such a circumstance, the common solution was to hide and run, even if it's from a softball player (Rebecca wasn't sure, the other student seemed to play badminton at maximum in her opinion.) with a box of wine.

She threw the lighter backpack on the floor, in the middle between Rebecca and her. It was in the same state as before, excluding the items that was traded.

"Uhh. You keep the map, and the uh, rum. Because well."

It was the same copy. She didn't drink. To say that was trivial, there was no need to stutter. To hesitate. Rebecca did not hesitate however, to run off into the open uh, seas. Wait, then go.

"Um, thanks."

With that, even if Rebecca knew it was a simply a appeasement of a petty, egotistic, dramatic emotion, that emotion told her that it was enough. Rebecca wondered if it had meant 'enough talking and wasting time' or 'enough, you've done enough to prevent her completely resenting you.'

It was an irrational emotion like all of its brethren, not worth listening to. Rebecca took a deep breath, trying her best to expel them, and then ran. Wherever she was going, she preferred it if they stayed on the trawler. That also goes for Jodi.

((Rebecca Roberts continued elsewhere...))

[MethodicalSlacker]

Rebecca took from her bag. Rebecca complied with her requests. Rebecca set her things down, and walked away. And for Jodi today⁷³, that was the end of Rebecca.

Jodi had nothing to say when Rebecca thanked her for the stuff. Jodi didn't want to give her anything, after she decided that she wanted to take first. But it was too late to feel bad about that when Jodi had other things to worry about. Too many bad things had happened to her, too fast, for her to feel any one of them on their own anymore. Unless someone else was about to show up with a loaded gun—

the trawler murmured against the brush of a soft and brief water swell⁷⁴—

—then it was time for her to stop feeling sorry for herself and get to action.

Already while begging for her life Jodi had managed to steady herself against the front cabin navigational desk and put herself back onto both of her feet. The logical next step was movement, and then to walk to her bag. First, though, she had to do something about the pain. She wasn't safe enough yet to try to dress her wound or take painkillers, so she went first with her balance. Jodi tried to hunch over, bending at the back on the side where she hurt herself, which sent a jolt of pain against her hip in response; then, undeterred, she tried to do the same bend on the uninjured side of her spine and shifted her weight onto the corresponding leg. This felt well enough. With some inward cajoling⁷⁵, she felt fit to limp, with a hand against the wall of the cabin, towards the bag.

At midway she stopped, turned to look over her shoulder, and pulled the bottom of her shirt up just enough to finally take a look at her injury. From what she could see her back wasn't incredibly swollen, which was a good sign. The color of her skin there had a bluish tint, which could mean anything to her, and there weren't any cuts on the skin. The worst she could have done was break a rib or cause a bruise or, in a worst case scenario, internal bleeding. She'd be relieved by that, if she wasn't already in so much pain. It was possible she pulled a muscle or sprained herself in some way. Her stomach felt queasy, but she wasn't sure how much of that was seasickness and how much was getting her shit pushed in by the wall⁷⁶.

It was only a few paces from there to her bag, left open on the floor. She didn't really know what to do with the gift basket, and she wasn't quite ready to bend down to pick up her things yet, so she angled it over the opening and nestled it in so it wouldn't tip over and spill out. Now that she didn't have as much food, or a gun, she had enough room in there to put the cigarettes and porn magazines inside. That left the box wine; that would potentially be too tight of a squeeze. The last thing she wanted was the box wine emptying out all over the rest of her already low supplies. Maybe she'd keep it in the basket and she could try trading up to a new weapon, or to get some food back. The cigarettes would be helpful for that, too. Jodi didn't know anyone who smoked, or drank, but she was sure that now there were a lot of people ready to start.

But who knew if she would even make it that far⁷⁷?

Jodi pushed away from the wall and teetered toward the center of the cabin. It was not yet time. Jodi spent a few more moments and looked out the front window onto the ocean, away from the rest of the flotilla. What was it that Jodi was best at, after all these years of trying? Not answering questions in class, not art, not knowing anything for class, none of that was useful now. What was the takeaway for here, in this moment? What had all of that amounted to?

Jodi knew the value of just showing up and trying hard for its own sake. She was better at putting in the work more than she was knowing what to do with the fruits of her labor. She was good at getting in with elbow grease, at putting the metal to the grindstone, at the hustle.

And now, with her cigarettes, and her booze, and her porn rags, Jodi Hunter was going to have to hustle until she died. That was all she had left.

Jodi savored the bitter taste of this for a minute as the pain in her back settled and lessened some. Then she turned away from the window and went back to her bag, the dreaded dead weight pile on the floor. She carefully stepped around the bag on the points of her toes, put herself between it and the wall, then pushed it away with her feet toward the center of the room. This was to give herself enough space to squat and lift it, as she'd told herself, with her legs⁷⁸. Then, she straightened her back against the wall, trying her best not to lean into the injury. It was simple enough, she just had to squat down

and ignore her injury

and grab the straps

and push upwards against the floor with her legs

and an in instant it was done and the bag was in her arms and Jodi was feet away from the wall unmoored in the center of the room and soon off center with her balance long lost and her feet rocked back and forth with the breath of the waves and she tried to fight it as her feet flew out from underneath her and over and out the cabin floor as she spilled across the deck into the warm gleam of the full bright sun above the shaking of the waters and below the churning blue world. The whisper of salt and the stench of life filled her nose and carried her as she sailed clutching everything that had never weighed so much and so little until she held it for the first time to the railing of the puny ship and leaned face first just over the hard black of the water, so close Jodi could almost touch it with her nose and then the rest of her face if she wasn't trying to throw herself back against gravity like she currently was. It was her head that leaned back and took her slipping in reverse and spun her away back across the deck to the ladder she had climbed barely an hour ago to get herself into this mess and as she approached she knew it was too close to stop a second time so she dug, with both of her unwell feet, her heels down into the surface of the deck, and pushed backwards.

Jodi managed to stop herself. Her legs went forward from under her and she fell onto the floor at the top of the ladder with a yelp and a shouted curse word.

But the bag did not stop, not immediately. It left her hands and kept flying a few feet forward into the air and falling like a dropped rock at the same time. Jodi watched its path, ready to throw herself after it if it went into the water, only to feel a relieved cool sweat break out on her face as it landed on the platform up just a few precarious inches from the water, upright with nothing spilled out, and for a moment everything was where Jodi thought it should be. She took a moment to check if she'd broken anything new in her back. A moment more to appreciate her luck. Another moment to check her injury, and her back which was sore but now maybe a bit better and less painful that she'd gotten back to moving again.

Maybe all she needed was to walk it off. Jodi picked herself up with her hands, turned around, and slid down the ladder to the bottom, where she was already was. It was time to go.

And when she went to carry her things elsewhere, she noticed the bag felt a little bit lighter in her hands this time.



[Jodi Hunter continued elsewhere.]

---

[+] Footnotes

[73] Maybe any day, maybe not, but there was no way for Jodi to know. Maybe she'd run into her in an hour. Maybe she'd never see her again.

[74] She stopped herself and waited for a few moments. The sound of her heart beating was louder than any boat anywhere, and her breathing was even louder than that. Did her thoughts have any power, any pull on the cosmic joke that was playing out before her? Because there was no gunman. There was no gunman. There was no gunman.

[75] There was no gunman. Mind over matter. There was no gunman, and she could stand. She could stand and she could walk. The pain was just a feeling. There was no such thing as pain. Only sensation. It was just a feeling, like any other, and she could deal with whatever it was. Just a feeling. There was no gunman.

[76] Jodi was the gunman. Her thoughts were the gun, and her focus drew her aim. There was a target painted onto the side of a barn. Every shot had to be true. Not one shot, not one thought could be off. There was nothing behind the target to hit. There was no barn. There were no bullets. Jodi was missing her gun. She needed to lift her bag still.

[77] She needed to make it that far. She had no other choice. She was supposed to try. She wasn't supposed to think.

[78] Way earlier. The first time. There were bullets stuck in the walls of the barn that she was to tease out with her fingers and reload into the front of her gun, which refused to fire straight and refused to fire true. But she had it. And she had to try to shoot it. And she didn't have it. And there was no trying left.