Banhammer'd

[MurderWeasel]

When the boy finally fell, Karen's breathing began to slowly stabilize, and the aches and pains of combat began to make themselves known. She wiped her hand across her forehead, and it came away wet with blood. She was shaking, shaking badly. She tried to aim her pistol at the fallen boy, figuring she'd take another shot to make sure he was dead, but she couldn't come close to holding the gun steady. Instead, she walked forwards and nudged him, ever so slightly, with her foot. No response. Everyone else on the beach had fled during the exchange. Another conflict, another fight, and again, Karen was the only one left standing at the end.

She dropped to her knees in the sand, shivering and gasping, beginning to hyperventilate. It had been the same thing, just the same thing as after the first time, only this boy, he had a sword and a gun, not just a rod, and he'd nearly killed her. She had no idea how many shots she had fired. She had no idea how long had passed. She just wanted this all to be done, just wanted everything to be over. She wanted to leave this island.

Having a breakdown in the sand would not accomplish that. The boy had come close to killing her. He had not succeeded. She had things to deal with. First priority was her health. The bruises, the aches, there was nothing to do for that. Take things a little easier, maybe. She ran her hands through her hair again. The gashes were on the left side of her face, up near her hairline. Keeping one hand on her Glock, she rummaged in her pockets. She had moved some band-aids there earlier. She had no idea what she was doing. She couldn't even see where her wounds were. Her priorities were all wrong. She had to be smart.

A few deep breaths, and she had steadied herself, had managed to calm herself and convince herself that the boy would not defy all common sense and come for her again. She took the gun from his hand, pried the sword from his other fist. Leaving weapons unattended was a bad choice. It could come back to bite her. She was not seriously wounded. Her future trumped any current discomfort.

Turning it over in her hands, Karen determined that the blade was too heavy. She had no idea how to use it. Discard it, then. She took the boy's bandanna, tied it to her left arm. Six there, now. She made it seven by claiming the yellow bandanna from the girl. She was shivering. She didn't want to be near these corpses. She wanted to run. She couldn't leave anything for her opponents, though. She quickly stripped the ammunition from the girl's pack. Her heart sunk when she saw it: yet another type of bullet. She reloaded the pistol. That, at least, worked similarly to her Glock. All of its ammunition was already loaded in clips, too. Convenient.

She held the new pistol it in her lap as she reloaded her Glock's clips. Her box of bullets had four shells remaining. She had two full clips. It hardly seemed to matter; the weapon worked best for her, but she was in no way short on armaments.

On that note, she had some things to get rid of.

The sword was the first, hurled into the sea. Karen didn't know anything about tides, so she just had to hope it would stay submerged, or, better still, would be covered by sand. Next, she ate and drank what she could from the two packs, dumping the rest into the sea as well, along with the medical supplies and spare clothing. She would leave nothing for the scavengers, would give no advantages for her adversaries. Finally, she removed the machine gun, untied her improvise strap, removed the clip, and flung it as far into the sea as she could. It was a bigger danger to her than to others, serving as a constant temptation to use tactics for which she was unsuited. She tossed the clips after it, one by one, trying to spread them out. The salt water would hopefully mess the whole thing up enough to render it useless to anyone who came along at lower tide.

She felt a little strange about getting rid of weapons, but she was still more than well-armed. She had two pistols and a rifle. That would have to be enough. Anything more would slow her down.

A glance behind her. The corpses were still still. The blood had soaked into the sand. Karen felt mildly ill. This would all be over soon, though. She would go somewhere, hide, and eliminate one more opponent: the second-to-last standing. This fight had been unavoidable. They had posed a threat to her, so she had eliminated them. She would simply avoid these incidents in the future.

Finally, she checked her reflection. The blood was still flowing slightly. She had nearly forgotten, but the left side of her face looked horrible. She dug into one of her first aid kits—belatedly realizing she should have used the ones she had discarded—and retrieved some antiseptic wipes. The stinging that came as she cleaned her face helped clear her mind. She also cleaned the blood off the pistol. Then, using the shaky reflection provided by the sea, she applied the band aids. The damage wasn't so bad: nothing disfiguring, at least. It was just a few deep gashes. She wondered if they would leave scars. If she kept them clean, hopefully not.

All the time, of course, she kept her guard up, watching, keeping her Glock ready. She would have to get used to the other gun soon, if she stuck to her current tactics. Ammunition was not a huge problem, but it had the potential to become one. That was okay. She would learn, and she would ration to what degree she could.

But for now, she wanted to move, wanted to get away from this beach and get a little peace, a little rest. Inland, then. The rain forest was off limits. That left her to navigate her way over the plains. That was good enough for now. She combed her hair with her fingers, so that it fell over the parts of her face covered by band aids. There was no reason to advertise that she was injured, and she did not relish being reminded of her run in with this couple. The memories would be the worst part of it; the wounds were less severe than the bruising her clothes hid.

She shook off these thoughts, concentrating more on how the viewers were probably feeling about her. She hoped she had caused them consternation by throwing the weapons away. She hoped they couldn't even begin to fathom what made her tick.

That would mean she was nothing like them.

She got moving again, heading inland, ready to leave the beach alone for a long time. Ali would take care of herself, or someone else would take care of her. It wasn't worth the risk of getting involved.

((Karen Ruiz continued in Last Page))

[Mini_Help]

((Inactivity Squad snagging Chelsea Roberts.))

((Chelsea Roberts arrived from Shun The Non-Believer))

Dead. They were both dead. They were both dead and that Karen girl had killed them both. She had woken up late, just in time to see the rest of the people she was travelling with run off ahead of her. It was all she could do to pack up her things and sprint just to catch up.

Now, she was glad she wasn't the fastest person in the world. She had come over the hill just as the first shots were fired. She watched the bunny girl fall over, bleed out, and die. She watched David, her teammate, charge Karen, she could feel the indignation coming from him all the way from here. Alone, and unnoticed. All her teammate had gotten for his troubles was a trio of bullets.

And their assailant. She just stood there, mulling over her weapons, taking her sweet time as the two corpses rotted around her. And Chelsea was too fearful to do a single thing about it. It was far too late. What would she be doing by attacking now? Seeking vengance for a pair of people she barely even knew? No, more likely getting herself killed. Just like the others. Just like she was afraid of.

She felt her heart skip a beat as Karen glanced her way. She ducked down, hiding behind a nearby food cart in the sand. The tense moments felt like hours. But then, Karen simply wandered away. Her hand gravitated to her abdomen. She was alive. But she'd let the others die. Some teammate she had been. It wasn't like she had vowed to protect everyone else, but any ration person would feel like they'd failed. Right?

The sting of hot tears welled in her eyes; the cool sea breeze gently kissing the streaks down her cheeks. How long had she been crying for?

((Chelsea Roberts Continued To: Where do you Run When There's Nowhere to Hide?))