Karen didn't seem to know where Bobby was hiding; she was just scanning the surroundings for movement. Bobby was not moving, not making any noises that might alert her to his location. He had a nice, thick tree to use as cover, so he felt at least temporarily safe from her.
He slowly, carefully peeked out from behind the tree, ready to duck back if he found the girl aiming at his head. She wasn't. She was still crouching over Anthony's body, scanning the forest with her eyes and with the gun. But he noticed something else as well: Her attention was divided. She was holding the gun in one hand, while the other hand was blindly tugging Anthony's pink bandanna off of his lifeless arm.
What the hell is she doing? No, never mind that. The best enemy is a distracted enemy. There will be no better chance to strike than now. But how? I'm still a bit too far away to get to her before she shoots me. I need a diversion. His hand felt the diversion before he recognized what it was. This is it. Here goes nothing.
Bobby threw the fallen branch at a bush far enough away from him that Karen's gun would be pointing 90o away from where he actually was. The sound it made when it hit the bush was certainly loud enough for her to hear. But she'll only be fooled for a moment.
In that small moment, Bobby charged out of his hiding place, sprinting at the girl like he was at the state track finals and roaring like a highland warrior, one rod bared in each hand.
Friendly Fire
Semi-Private (PM first before entry)
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The Bearded One*
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MurderWeasel
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Karen was looking up, so she caught the flash of movement and the crash as something flew through the underbrush. Her reaction was instant; she snapped her gun in the direction of the noise and fired a shot. Make him keep his head down. Her other reaction, though, was to move. Wherever the boy was coming from, he had no ranged weapon. Close quarters meant greater risk. Her hand shot out from her pocket, grabbing the hilt of the sword, as she sprang to her feet and backpedaled rapidly. He had the advantage of acceleration, but Karen wasn't trying to outrun him, just buy space. He was fast, easily faster than her, but she wasn't trying to escape.
Bobby's biggest mistake was charging her. Guns were simple machines, operating on straight line trajectories. Much the same could be said of runners, especially those charging into combat. Her movement wasn't going to get her clear, but it would buy her split seconds.
She had nine shots to finish this. She had to connect with exactly one to end things. Her aim was hampered by the sword in her left hand, but not too badly.
She halted her backwards momentum before she could trip over anything, and fired a quick shot, aimed at her opponent's center of mass. It was, in all likelihood, the only one she would get before the boy was up close to her.
But that was okay. Both his hands were full, which meant there was no way he could grab her and control her movements, and bullets became a lot harder to avoid when the gun was right next to you, when it could easily be pressed against you.
Bobby's biggest mistake was charging her. Guns were simple machines, operating on straight line trajectories. Much the same could be said of runners, especially those charging into combat. Her movement wasn't going to get her clear, but it would buy her split seconds.
She had nine shots to finish this. She had to connect with exactly one to end things. Her aim was hampered by the sword in her left hand, but not too badly.
She halted her backwards momentum before she could trip over anything, and fired a quick shot, aimed at her opponent's center of mass. It was, in all likelihood, the only one she would get before the boy was up close to her.
But that was okay. Both his hands were full, which meant there was no way he could grab her and control her movements, and bullets became a lot harder to avoid when the gun was right next to you, when it could easily be pressed against you.
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The Bearded One*
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The diversion worked, at least a bit. Karen fired one shot toward the bush. She was facing the wrong way when Bobby started his charge toward her.
Then she did something he didn't expect. She picked up Anthony's sword and took a couple of steps backward. That gave her enough time to reorient her gun. It also gave her a dangerous weapon for close combat. The look on her face was cold, determined. She didn't look scared at all.
Bobby knew her second shot hit him. The sound of the gun firing and the sharp pain he felt were almost simultaneous. She's a murderer. I have to stop her. He ignored the pain: Adrenaline.
The gun in her right hand was the most dangerous thing she had. Bobby swung the plastic rod as hard as he could at her right arm, hoping to cripple it. The sword was second. He swung the metal rod at her left arm with the same goal.
The moment after that, he was within arm's reach of her.
Then she did something he didn't expect. She picked up Anthony's sword and took a couple of steps backward. That gave her enough time to reorient her gun. It also gave her a dangerous weapon for close combat. The look on her face was cold, determined. She didn't look scared at all.
Bobby knew her second shot hit him. The sound of the gun firing and the sharp pain he felt were almost simultaneous. She's a murderer. I have to stop her. He ignored the pain: Adrenaline.
The gun in her right hand was the most dangerous thing she had. Bobby swung the plastic rod as hard as he could at her right arm, hoping to cripple it. The sword was second. He swung the metal rod at her left arm with the same goal.
The moment after that, he was within arm's reach of her.
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MurderWeasel
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Karen had hit him. She didn't know how badly. Apparently, not badly enough.
She had never been in a real fight before being selected and dragged here, had never really understood the theory of combat or the progression of wounds to death. When her brother was shot, by all accounts, he'd been down on the ground pretty instantly. When the dead boy had been shot, he'd dropped like a rock. Getting shot meant you died. That simple.
Only this angry boy hadn't died. He'd closed, and he'd swung at her. He'd picked the wrong sides to prioritize for his attacks; she took a stinging lash to the back of her right hand, but her body was loose enough that she was able to move her arm with the blow. It threw her aim, kept her from simply ramming the Glock into his gut and pulling the trigger again and again, but she didn't drop her weapon.
The blow to her left side was more severe. She caught it on her forearm, and, while there was no snap, no tear, no feeling of bones breaking or dislocating, there was a horrible pain down to her hand, worse than any of the minor injuries she'd experienced as part of her normal life. Again, she kept her grip on the sword, knowing that if she dropped it, she'd be at this boy's mercy, but it was a struggle, a distraction, and he was right in her face, ready to press his temporary advantage.
In this instant, Karen's instincts served her well. Her reaction was panicked, but it was the panic brought on by a challenging situation, not an insurmountable one. She fired twice while trying to push the Glock back into line. Her shots were entirely wide, unlikely to hit anything. They didn't have to. In the end, they were a diversion. The boy was fighting from his upper body, fighting using only half his limbs, using his torso and arm strength to his advantage. Karen was outclassed there, but she had something he didn't.
She had half a decade of soccer practice under her belt.
So she naturally went to kicks, lashing her left leg out at the boy's knee. She didn't have to do anything except slow him down, disengage, buy some distance.
Then run.
One to go.
Nothing said it had to be this one.
She had never been in a real fight before being selected and dragged here, had never really understood the theory of combat or the progression of wounds to death. When her brother was shot, by all accounts, he'd been down on the ground pretty instantly. When the dead boy had been shot, he'd dropped like a rock. Getting shot meant you died. That simple.
Only this angry boy hadn't died. He'd closed, and he'd swung at her. He'd picked the wrong sides to prioritize for his attacks; she took a stinging lash to the back of her right hand, but her body was loose enough that she was able to move her arm with the blow. It threw her aim, kept her from simply ramming the Glock into his gut and pulling the trigger again and again, but she didn't drop her weapon.
The blow to her left side was more severe. She caught it on her forearm, and, while there was no snap, no tear, no feeling of bones breaking or dislocating, there was a horrible pain down to her hand, worse than any of the minor injuries she'd experienced as part of her normal life. Again, she kept her grip on the sword, knowing that if she dropped it, she'd be at this boy's mercy, but it was a struggle, a distraction, and he was right in her face, ready to press his temporary advantage.
In this instant, Karen's instincts served her well. Her reaction was panicked, but it was the panic brought on by a challenging situation, not an insurmountable one. She fired twice while trying to push the Glock back into line. Her shots were entirely wide, unlikely to hit anything. They didn't have to. In the end, they were a diversion. The boy was fighting from his upper body, fighting using only half his limbs, using his torso and arm strength to his advantage. Karen was outclassed there, but she had something he didn't.
She had half a decade of soccer practice under her belt.
So she naturally went to kicks, lashing her left leg out at the boy's knee. She didn't have to do anything except slow him down, disengage, buy some distance.
Then run.
One to go.
Nothing said it had to be this one.
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The Bearded One*
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Bobby was almost surprised that his wild attacks hit their targets. The plastic rod grazed Karen's gun hand with great force, but she held onto her weapon. The metal rod struck the girl's left forearm much more solidly, though she maintained her grip on the sword; the metal rod bent over her arm at almost a 60o angle.
It was useless as a weapon now. Bobby dropped it.
After the hit, however slight, Karen't gun wasn't pointed at Bobby any longer, though Karen tried. She fired two shots, but both were wide of their mark. Loud as hell, though, he thought.
Karen's foot shot out, connecting just below the outside of Bobby's right knee. If it had hit the knee, it might have crippled his leg right there. Bobby registered the pain with a grunt.
Don't let her point that gun at me again! Bobby took a step forward, risking exposure to the sword, but keeping the distance close. He switched to a two-handed grip on the plastic rod and swung it backhanded, like a sword, at Karen's right side.
Bitch is wearing me down. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.
It was useless as a weapon now. Bobby dropped it.
After the hit, however slight, Karen't gun wasn't pointed at Bobby any longer, though Karen tried. She fired two shots, but both were wide of their mark. Loud as hell, though, he thought.
Karen's foot shot out, connecting just below the outside of Bobby's right knee. If it had hit the knee, it might have crippled his leg right there. Bobby registered the pain with a grunt.
Don't let her point that gun at me again! Bobby took a step forward, risking exposure to the sword, but keeping the distance close. He switched to a two-handed grip on the plastic rod and swung it backhanded, like a sword, at Karen's right side.
Bitch is wearing me down. I don't know how much longer I can keep this up.
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MurderWeasel
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Karen's foot connected. Not solidly, not enough to break anything, but hopefully enough to make him think twice. He swung at her again. She knew it was coming, but there wasn't a whole lot she could do about it. The plastic rod slammed into her side, but again she tried to move with it, dampening the impact. This time, though, she continued her movement, taking several steps to get clear of her assailant. She should have turned around, should have shot at him. Instead, though, old instincts took hold. He'd hit her. He'd actually hurt her. Her side was stinging, her left arm throbbing, and if she stayed, she was going to get hurt more, was potentially going to be badly injured.
Karen had determined that she would no longer be a victim. She still had a coward's heart, though.
She ran. This time, the head start was hers. They were both hurt some, but she was pretty sure she was better off. She could regroup. Reassess. Figure out what went wrong.
She was running into the woods, a bit wobbly, a bit unsure, the sword barely held off the ground. If he followed her, she'd gun him down on the spot. If he caught up with her, this would get worse, so much worse. But at this moment, she just had to get away.
She wanted to be alone. She just wanted to be left alone. Just a few minutes to think, to come to terms with everything. A few moments to accept what she had done. Why had he stuck around? Why hadn't he just fled?
Of course, she knew. She knew all too well. It was people like the boy back there who had prompted her to take up her path. People who felt no fear, who didn't know when to flee. They were the ones who would catch her and kill her, if she showed the slightest hint of weakness. They were the ones who shared her world, who lurked, waiting to kill everyone they could, not because they had to, but because there were finally no repercussions for doing so. She'd seen it in her classmates' faces. She knew how they thought. She had to pass for one of them, because she knew what would happen to her if she dropped the façade for even a second.
But she had to be alone to pull herself together again, so she ran.
((Karen Ruiz continued in King of the Jungle))
Karen had determined that she would no longer be a victim. She still had a coward's heart, though.
She ran. This time, the head start was hers. They were both hurt some, but she was pretty sure she was better off. She could regroup. Reassess. Figure out what went wrong.
She was running into the woods, a bit wobbly, a bit unsure, the sword barely held off the ground. If he followed her, she'd gun him down on the spot. If he caught up with her, this would get worse, so much worse. But at this moment, she just had to get away.
She wanted to be alone. She just wanted to be left alone. Just a few minutes to think, to come to terms with everything. A few moments to accept what she had done. Why had he stuck around? Why hadn't he just fled?
Of course, she knew. She knew all too well. It was people like the boy back there who had prompted her to take up her path. People who felt no fear, who didn't know when to flee. They were the ones who would catch her and kill her, if she showed the slightest hint of weakness. They were the ones who shared her world, who lurked, waiting to kill everyone they could, not because they had to, but because there were finally no repercussions for doing so. She'd seen it in her classmates' faces. She knew how they thought. She had to pass for one of them, because she knew what would happen to her if she dropped the façade for even a second.
But she had to be alone to pull herself together again, so she ran.
((Karen Ruiz continued in King of the Jungle))
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The Bearded One*
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Karen saw Bobby's swing as it started; she turned to her left to soften the blow. The plastic rod struck her solidly on her right side, just below her armpit. The rod snapped in half from the force of the blow. He spared a quick look at the plastic fragment in his hand. I'm so screwed now.
He got ready to dodge behind cover. But Karen's momentum kept her feet moving. She ran away off through the forest and out of sight. Bobby stared after her for a few seconds trying to figure out why she didn't just shoot him. But she didn't. I'm alive, but so is she.
His adrenaline started to drain away, leaving him shaking and exhausted. He fell to his knees and finally felt the spot on his right leg where she'd kicked him. A bruise; probably a bad one. Then he gingerly touched his right side. The pain there was much more intense and widespread. I'm still alive, so I guess she missed my lung.
Bobby unbuttoned his shirt and gently removed it. He could feel a stab of pain whenever he moved his right arm too vigorously. Eventually, he got the shirt off and looked at his bullet wound. It was almost a miss. The bullet had pierced his skin about three inches away from his nipple and exited again about two inches behind that, just above the kidney. It had missed just about everything including his ribs. But there were a pair of holes in his skin and it hurt more than any injury he could remember.
He was about to open up his backpack, but decided that he needed to be ready to run if Karen came back. He looked over to where Anthony still lay. He was still. The girl who taken his life had also taken his bandanna and his sword. Suddenly, Bobby choked up. Tears came to his eyes and he brought his left hand up to wipe his nose. He blinked the tears away before any could roll down his cheek.
Still sniffling, Bobby crawled over to Anthony and opened the boy's backpack. "I'm sorry, mate, I really am sorry." He took out the first aid kit. "I'll do my best to end the bitch who put you down, but I need a few patches first." He opened the kit, then looked at the back of Anthony's head. "And frankly, I could use a better weapon, too."
He wrapped an ace bandage around his injured leg first, then he moved on to the bullet wound. He cleaned both the entrance and exit wounds with alcohol wipes (Shit, that burns), then he taped sterile dressings to them both. When he could think of nothing else to do with them, he put his shirt back on, then his backpack, wincing a few times in the process.
Bobby reluctantly went back to Anthony's backpack and started looking through it. "I'll need your food a bit more than you will now, I think." He collected the two remaining Clif energy bars and the packet of beef jerky, adding them to his own backpack. "I'll do my best to avenge you." He placed his hand on Anthony's shoulder in a gesture of comfort, but he withdrew it quickly. How do you comfort someone who's already dead? You can't. You can only try to make it right for those who are still alive.
He stood up and retrieved the only rod which had survived the combat: the one he'd thrown like a javelin and missed. He began walking and found himself using the rod as a walking stick. He frowned, unsure exactly where to go, but he kept walking, limping slightly, through the darkness.
((Bobby Goldman continued in The Walking Dead))
((Thread closed))
He got ready to dodge behind cover. But Karen's momentum kept her feet moving. She ran away off through the forest and out of sight. Bobby stared after her for a few seconds trying to figure out why she didn't just shoot him. But she didn't. I'm alive, but so is she.
His adrenaline started to drain away, leaving him shaking and exhausted. He fell to his knees and finally felt the spot on his right leg where she'd kicked him. A bruise; probably a bad one. Then he gingerly touched his right side. The pain there was much more intense and widespread. I'm still alive, so I guess she missed my lung.
Bobby unbuttoned his shirt and gently removed it. He could feel a stab of pain whenever he moved his right arm too vigorously. Eventually, he got the shirt off and looked at his bullet wound. It was almost a miss. The bullet had pierced his skin about three inches away from his nipple and exited again about two inches behind that, just above the kidney. It had missed just about everything including his ribs. But there were a pair of holes in his skin and it hurt more than any injury he could remember.
He was about to open up his backpack, but decided that he needed to be ready to run if Karen came back. He looked over to where Anthony still lay. He was still. The girl who taken his life had also taken his bandanna and his sword. Suddenly, Bobby choked up. Tears came to his eyes and he brought his left hand up to wipe his nose. He blinked the tears away before any could roll down his cheek.
Still sniffling, Bobby crawled over to Anthony and opened the boy's backpack. "I'm sorry, mate, I really am sorry." He took out the first aid kit. "I'll do my best to end the bitch who put you down, but I need a few patches first." He opened the kit, then looked at the back of Anthony's head. "And frankly, I could use a better weapon, too."
He wrapped an ace bandage around his injured leg first, then he moved on to the bullet wound. He cleaned both the entrance and exit wounds with alcohol wipes (Shit, that burns), then he taped sterile dressings to them both. When he could think of nothing else to do with them, he put his shirt back on, then his backpack, wincing a few times in the process.
Bobby reluctantly went back to Anthony's backpack and started looking through it. "I'll need your food a bit more than you will now, I think." He collected the two remaining Clif energy bars and the packet of beef jerky, adding them to his own backpack. "I'll do my best to avenge you." He placed his hand on Anthony's shoulder in a gesture of comfort, but he withdrew it quickly. How do you comfort someone who's already dead? You can't. You can only try to make it right for those who are still alive.
He stood up and retrieved the only rod which had survived the combat: the one he'd thrown like a javelin and missed. He began walking and found himself using the rod as a walking stick. He frowned, unsure exactly where to go, but he kept walking, limping slightly, through the darkness.
((Bobby Goldman continued in The Walking Dead))
((Thread closed))
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