The Final Curtain

[Outfoxd]

The girl dropped, stolen crossbow falling a short distance away from her. Good thing. The gun had run dry on the last few shots.

Jackson walked over, wary, wondering if he should reload. He covered her with the gun anyway. A bluff was better than nothing. When he was barely a foot away, he was certain he had finished the job.

He let out a puff of air, not even knowing he had been holding his breath. He took a hard swallow, trying to clear a lump in his throat. He'd only injured Vahka. Here he had actually put someone down.

Jackson bent and picked up the crossbow. It was loaded. He wasn't sure but it didn't look like Alice had gotten a shot off. He didn't bother looking Cathryn over. She had seemed light on anything important since he first met her.

"God." He said. His own voice made him start. He spared a glance at Alice, butchered and on the ground. For the second time today he prayed the kids at home weren't watching.

Jackson turned and started walking away, bitter. Every chance, every calm moment, seemed to just be a lie. Alice, she had been the first person he really thought could have bucked the fucking trend.

"God." He said again as he walked.

[Maraoone]

Could she breathe now? Could Cathryn move a finger, get up, could she live? She waited, and waited, and waited, as the footsteps faded into nothing, into the cold silence, but was it enough, or had he stopped, taken a second guess as to whether she was alive? One second, two minutes, three hours, she lay there, letting herself paint the ground scarlet. Only when she'd forgotten the sound of Jackson's gun did she allow herself to come back to life.

It would be better to sleep here, you know. Sleep, it was an exciting prospect. She hadn't slept since, since when again? Since, since Bella? An hour or so after Jewel, after Naomi died, and how many eternities ago had that been? So much had happened, so many new bodies, so much more scarlet spread. She'd had a lot less enemies the last time she slept. A lot less problems.

But she couldn't get what she wanted. Cathryn's body had holes now, new ones. Her right arm couldn't move now, with two holes near her shoulder, a bit above the bite mark, which hadn't even dried yet. Even the biggest effort only resulted in a slight quiver. And the pain, the burning. Surprisingly, she hadn't felt much during the encounter itself, but as the adrenaline faded, the pain intensified. Like a burning ember pushed inside her.

She couldn't even hear properly. She looked behind her and saw fragments of what may have been her left ear. She tried vomiting again, but there was literally nothing left in her gut. No time for sleep, no time for anything, not if she wanted to avoid infection. No rest, no mercy.

Maybe that's what a sinner deserved.

No, no doubts now, not now. She could be forgiven, perhaps. In the end, her conscience could understand, maybe they, her friends back home, could understand that it was special circumstance. She hadn't been cruel intentionally, she'd tried to make it short. She could be forgiven. Besides, he'd do this a million times to live, to get somewhere. It's what she promised herself.

And so she'd push on. Despite the terror, the blood always pulsing a bit too loud through her veins and out her wounds, despite the aches, and the agony, and the hunger, and the weariness of it all, she'd put another foot forward. Because, if at the end of it all, she didn't make it, what worth would all this be? What worth would Leah, Nina, now Alice's deaths be? And what about her hands, her bloodied hands?

And so she stumbled out of the area, and sought shelter.

((Cathryn Bailey continues in Grievances))

[Outfoxd]

Jackson had been so intent on forgetting, on the path ahead, and so far away, that he didn't notice Cathryn rise from the dead and leave. Not that it mattered. The way everything was going, he would have more than one chance to rectify mistakes.  

((Jackson King continued elsewhere))