((Chris Brooks continued from Mozambique Hammer))
Chris kicked the door open. He was in no mood for subtlety; a bullet in the arm would do that. It hurt badly now that the adrenaline had worn off. Chris threw his bag against the wall of the shack and collapsed down next to it.
"Fuckers." He muttered as he pulled the blood-stained gauze off his arm. It hurt to even do that. Chris wasn't exactly holding out for how much use he'd get out of it now. He wriggled his fingers and it felt strangely detached from the rest of his body. It was more than a little disconcerting. He gingerly took his hoodie off, which was a lot more difficult when only one of his arms was able to move without erupting with pain. Once he'd managed to take it off he finally got a good look at his arm. He would've preferred not seeing it.
There was a bloody hole in his arm; if Chris was being generous it didn't actually look that bad. He almost laughed at that. There he was sitting in an abandoned shack in the middle of a god forsaken valley examining a bullet wound in his arm and his only thought was "It's not that bad."
It was more sad than funny when he thought too much about it.
His biggest concern was getting the bullet out of his arm, since there wasn't an exit wound. If the bullet had broken apart in his arm though he had no chance of fixing it. He pulled his bag over with his good arm and removed the first aid kit. He flipped it open and rummaged through it; he found a pair of tweezers.
Chris looked between the tweezers and the wound on his arm. There had to have been an easier way, he could just bandage it and leave it, he looked through the first aid kit some more. He found some alcohol pads. He nodded slightly, it was a start. He tore one of the pads free of their packaging and dabbed at the wound.
It stung like a motherfucker. Chris held the pad in place. He either dealt with the wound now or suffered for it later. Even still the pain was making him rethink his choice, he understood why hospitals treated a bullet wound as a medical emergency though. There didn't seem to be much you could do about it apart from try and take the bullet out.
He removed the alcohol pad which had been dyed red and threw it away. He was leaving an easy to follow trail sure but he didn't care. He wanted a working arm more than to be untraceable. After cleaning up the wound with another alcohol pad Chris picked up the tweezers, he knew it would be a bad idea to just poke around in his arm but it was that or leave the bullet there. It was a shitty argument truth be told.
Chris was about to start his attempt when the speakers burst to life.
More names
More deaths
More danger zones.
Chris felt like he was starting to adapt too much to the news of his classmates dying or maybe it was the fact that he had seen two of the six deaths that had happened. Frank and Dylan had both killed people since the last announcement. Frank had killed Jasmine and Dylan had killed Damien. They must have both killed before they shot at...and shot him. It looked like he was even luckier to get away from both of them. Since they were easily the two biggest killers in the game.
"Guess I'm a survivor." Chris muttered to himself.
He was in the clear when it came to danger zones as well. All in all it looked like the shack would be a good place to hole up for a while, to recuperate after everything that had happened. Again he looked from his arm to the tweezers.
"Fuck that." Chris out the tweezers back into the first aid kit and removed the gauze and the sterile dressings. He decided that the best course of action would be to bind his arm as tight as he could. If nothing else at least it would give some support as well as make sure the bleeding was stopped if the wound re-opened.
Now that he was out of a life a death situation he would be able to relax, take stock of his supplies, eat and maybe get some rest for the first time.
Then he could think up a new plan, one that ended with his survival.
Two Foot Wide and Six Foot Deep
((Becky Long continued from Good Morning Sunshine))
Becky was grumbling to herself as she made her way back through the woodlands on her crippled leg, for what must’ve been like the fourth time in two days. Okay, so Damien and Brian were dead. Yeah, it was great that they got what was coming to them, but it sucked that she hadn’t had a chance to deliver it to them herself. They may have gotten to die quickly, but she was going to have to hop around on a ruined leg and never get to do Taekwon-Do or cycling or whatever ever again. That wasn’t even close to a fair trade.
The fact that she’d been evicted from her relatively cosy room did little to help matters. She might have followed Ashley and Audrey to the slopes, just because she had no idea where else she could head, except that it had been announced as a danger zone, along with the entire west half of the valley. So yeah, the only area she could get to without being slowed down by having to stop to check her map happened to be the pine trees, with their dense undergrowth and uneven footing that made limping so much harder.
She let out a sigh. She had no-one whose ass she wanted to kick anymore, even if she still could, and the number of her friends who were still alive was getting smaller by the minute. Yeah, there was only so much time she could spend pretending that she was still pissed at them for missing her birthday in the grand scheme of things, so, as much worse things had happened since then, they had all returned to the status of being friends. Most of them were dead now, though, so it was a little too late to be thinking of them as buddies. Thinking of the remaining people that way was starting to feel harder too, considering she knew that a lot of them were murderers, just like her.
She may have been almost home, but between getting crippled, accidentally killing Erin, and several people trying to kill her, it was all starting to feel pretty hollow. She still had every intention of going home and getting on with her life, but she already knew that getting there wouldn’t make any of what she’d been through make any more sense. The Program was as enigmatic, and outright horrifying, as it had been to begin with. It was a waste of life, a waste of time, and a waste of effort, but still the government kept pushing it through.
Screw it, when she got home she'd ask the director what the point of it had all been to his face. If nothing else, she at least deserved to know that much by now.
The Woodman’s Shack, looking the same as it had when she’d seen it on the first day, came into view. It was funny, how back then she’d been on the verge of tears but still jump kicked her way into the building, then kicked Shawn and Yumi’s ass, when now she was crippling her way along. Yumi was dead, she remembered that for sure, but she couldn’t remember if Shawn was or not. She'd still kick his ass if he was, she decided with a small smirk.
Her hand wrapped around the handle of the door this time, having no intentions to kick it open. Limping across the valley took a lot out of her, and she could use a place to sit down for a while. The door, however, was stuck, swollen in the cold air and rain.
She let out another sigh. It was awkward, forcing a door with her shoulder when she only had one leg to stand on. As a result, when the door finally gave way, she fell down after it, landing on the ground with a startled yelp.
Becky was grumbling to herself as she made her way back through the woodlands on her crippled leg, for what must’ve been like the fourth time in two days. Okay, so Damien and Brian were dead. Yeah, it was great that they got what was coming to them, but it sucked that she hadn’t had a chance to deliver it to them herself. They may have gotten to die quickly, but she was going to have to hop around on a ruined leg and never get to do Taekwon-Do or cycling or whatever ever again. That wasn’t even close to a fair trade.
The fact that she’d been evicted from her relatively cosy room did little to help matters. She might have followed Ashley and Audrey to the slopes, just because she had no idea where else she could head, except that it had been announced as a danger zone, along with the entire west half of the valley. So yeah, the only area she could get to without being slowed down by having to stop to check her map happened to be the pine trees, with their dense undergrowth and uneven footing that made limping so much harder.
She let out a sigh. She had no-one whose ass she wanted to kick anymore, even if she still could, and the number of her friends who were still alive was getting smaller by the minute. Yeah, there was only so much time she could spend pretending that she was still pissed at them for missing her birthday in the grand scheme of things, so, as much worse things had happened since then, they had all returned to the status of being friends. Most of them were dead now, though, so it was a little too late to be thinking of them as buddies. Thinking of the remaining people that way was starting to feel harder too, considering she knew that a lot of them were murderers, just like her.
She may have been almost home, but between getting crippled, accidentally killing Erin, and several people trying to kill her, it was all starting to feel pretty hollow. She still had every intention of going home and getting on with her life, but she already knew that getting there wouldn’t make any of what she’d been through make any more sense. The Program was as enigmatic, and outright horrifying, as it had been to begin with. It was a waste of life, a waste of time, and a waste of effort, but still the government kept pushing it through.
Screw it, when she got home she'd ask the director what the point of it had all been to his face. If nothing else, she at least deserved to know that much by now.
The Woodman’s Shack, looking the same as it had when she’d seen it on the first day, came into view. It was funny, how back then she’d been on the verge of tears but still jump kicked her way into the building, then kicked Shawn and Yumi’s ass, when now she was crippling her way along. Yumi was dead, she remembered that for sure, but she couldn’t remember if Shawn was or not. She'd still kick his ass if he was, she decided with a small smirk.
Her hand wrapped around the handle of the door this time, having no intentions to kick it open. Limping across the valley took a lot out of her, and she could use a place to sit down for a while. The door, however, was stuck, swollen in the cold air and rain.
She let out another sigh. It was awkward, forcing a door with her shoulder when she only had one leg to stand on. As a result, when the door finally gave way, she fell down after it, landing on the ground with a startled yelp.
People said you could tell a lot about what was going on in your head from your dreams. Chris had never been that deep into introspection but the dream he was having was pushing him even further away from it. Program was messing with every part of his sub-conscious that was for sure.
Maxim was pointing a gun.
Garritt was on the floor bleeding and crying.
Alex was running towards him.
And Felicia was dead at his feet.
The yelp and thud that woke him up were not part of his dream though.
Lacking any cohesive thought Chris pushed himself towards his bag and out of the way of any possible gun fire. When he grabbed his bag his glanced over his shoulder to get an idea of the situation he was in.
Becky was on the floor. Chris sighed. Well at least it wasn't a threat, Becky had killed once if Chris was remembering it right and she did Taekwondo. She hadn't killed since though so Chris didn't get the feeling she would be trying to kill him...Plus she was on the floor and anyone who was on the floor wasn't that much of a threat. He wasn't in a position to judge when it came
He leaned back against the wall of the shack and grinned. "Scared the shit out of me."
The image of Felicia from his dream flashed in his mind and his grin faltered and fell away.
It had been stupid to fall asleep. Chris didn't even remember deciding to do it. He had just finished eating and was resting against the wall and then...well then Becky woke him up. He must have been more tired than he thought; he had hardly had any rest since the beginning of the Program. All he had managed to do was move from one death to another. There had been no real time to rest, to really sleep and get back any energy. It was a game of physical and mental endurance and Chris wasn't sure he was doing well on either of them.
He stood up and moved over to Becky, he was still tense, unsure of how she would react. When he reached her he crouched down and extended his hand.
"Want some help?"
With Frank and Dylan teaming up everyone was going to need all the help they could get.
Maxim was pointing a gun.
Garritt was on the floor bleeding and crying.
Alex was running towards him.
And Felicia was dead at his feet.
The yelp and thud that woke him up were not part of his dream though.
Lacking any cohesive thought Chris pushed himself towards his bag and out of the way of any possible gun fire. When he grabbed his bag his glanced over his shoulder to get an idea of the situation he was in.
Becky was on the floor. Chris sighed. Well at least it wasn't a threat, Becky had killed once if Chris was remembering it right and she did Taekwondo. She hadn't killed since though so Chris didn't get the feeling she would be trying to kill him...Plus she was on the floor and anyone who was on the floor wasn't that much of a threat. He wasn't in a position to judge when it came
He leaned back against the wall of the shack and grinned. "Scared the shit out of me."
The image of Felicia from his dream flashed in his mind and his grin faltered and fell away.
It had been stupid to fall asleep. Chris didn't even remember deciding to do it. He had just finished eating and was resting against the wall and then...well then Becky woke him up. He must have been more tired than he thought; he had hardly had any rest since the beginning of the Program. All he had managed to do was move from one death to another. There had been no real time to rest, to really sleep and get back any energy. It was a game of physical and mental endurance and Chris wasn't sure he was doing well on either of them.
He stood up and moved over to Becky, he was still tense, unsure of how she would react. When he reached her he crouched down and extended his hand.
"Want some help?"
With Frank and Dylan teaming up everyone was going to need all the help they could get.
Becky landed, more or less, flat on her face. She had managed to keep hold of her crutch with one arm as she tried to brace herself with the other, but in the end she had just wound up falling in a heap right in front of Chris.
Great, the cabin wasn’t empty and she was in the worst possible position to make a run for it. Even better was the fact that Chris had seen her fall into said position, and so she’d gotten to make an ass of herself. Getting killed would be bad enough, but it would be even worse to get killed after looking like a klutz.
She sighed at the thought, at how accustomed she’d become to the prospect of getting murdered. She couldn’t even muster up the enthusiasm to grab for her knife, still sat patiently in her pocket, for self-defence.
When he made his intentions of not murdering her clear, it was at least a breath of fresh air. She didn’t know Chris that well, which was becoming a disturbing trend with the people she’d met in the valley, but at least he wasn’t pointing a gun at her face like Dylan or Crazy Max.
Still, she couldn’t look him straight in the face as he offered his hand. She wasn’t in any better mood to accept help than she had been from Ashley or Audrey a few hours before hand, and Chris’ offer did little to make her feel less embarrassed. Her face flushed as she kept thinking about it.
At the same time, however, she was tired. She’d been hiking through the dark in the muddy woods for hours on one leg, and she had to do the same thing not twenty four hours ago. Even with all the rest she’d gotten in between, she still felt exhausted. So with a resigned breath, she took his hand and pulled herself up, muttering something about thanks under her breath.
As much as one half of her wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as possible, the other half was telling her to sit down and stay with the guy who had a bed. If nothing else, she could probably bum some food off of him and maybe get a chance to change her bandages. The latter was probably pretty pointless now, as her crippled leg was no doubt infected and would soon need amputation, but at least it would give her something to do.
“Can I stay here tonight?” she asked, still not quite looking straight at him, as her face remained a humiliated shade of red.
Great, the cabin wasn’t empty and she was in the worst possible position to make a run for it. Even better was the fact that Chris had seen her fall into said position, and so she’d gotten to make an ass of herself. Getting killed would be bad enough, but it would be even worse to get killed after looking like a klutz.
She sighed at the thought, at how accustomed she’d become to the prospect of getting murdered. She couldn’t even muster up the enthusiasm to grab for her knife, still sat patiently in her pocket, for self-defence.
When he made his intentions of not murdering her clear, it was at least a breath of fresh air. She didn’t know Chris that well, which was becoming a disturbing trend with the people she’d met in the valley, but at least he wasn’t pointing a gun at her face like Dylan or Crazy Max.
Still, she couldn’t look him straight in the face as he offered his hand. She wasn’t in any better mood to accept help than she had been from Ashley or Audrey a few hours before hand, and Chris’ offer did little to make her feel less embarrassed. Her face flushed as she kept thinking about it.
At the same time, however, she was tired. She’d been hiking through the dark in the muddy woods for hours on one leg, and she had to do the same thing not twenty four hours ago. Even with all the rest she’d gotten in between, she still felt exhausted. So with a resigned breath, she took his hand and pulled herself up, muttering something about thanks under her breath.
As much as one half of her wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as possible, the other half was telling her to sit down and stay with the guy who had a bed. If nothing else, she could probably bum some food off of him and maybe get a chance to change her bandages. The latter was probably pretty pointless now, as her crippled leg was no doubt infected and would soon need amputation, but at least it would give her something to do.
“Can I stay here tonight?” she asked, still not quite looking straight at him, as her face remained a humiliated shade of red.
Becky didn't seem to respond at first, instead looking away from him. Chris frowned a little at that...was she really too proud to not accept help?
After what seemed like an age she sighed and took his hand. Chris was relieved at that, he didn't want to have to deal with someone who wouldn't accept help or even realise they needed it for that matter. He'd had enough of that with Maxim, Louisa...and Lenny. He respected Alex for trying to help them but in the end it had been what cost him his life. It was why Chris was on his own, he had lost everyone else already.
He wondered if Becky had been through something similar, she looked worse for wear that much was clear. No one who fell through a door they were trying to open was in good condition.
As she spoke Chris noticed she was blushing. Maybe she didn't like having to accept his help, she'd accepted it though which meant she wasn't ruled by her own pride. It was something at least.
"Yeah you can stay here." He said with a shrug. "It'll be safer than outside at any rate."
Chris pushed his bag off the bed to make room for her to sit as he dropped back onto it.
"Everyone's going to have to be careful from now on." Chris said, running a hand through his hair. "Frank and Dylan are working together." He pointed to his arm to emphasize his point.
He thought about what Becky's reaction to the information would be, because as far as everyone else in the Program was concerned it was the worst news they could have possibly heard, at least in Chris's opinion. After all when the two biggest killers teamed up and both of them had guns.
Well that was just bad news for everyone.
After what seemed like an age she sighed and took his hand. Chris was relieved at that, he didn't want to have to deal with someone who wouldn't accept help or even realise they needed it for that matter. He'd had enough of that with Maxim, Louisa...and Lenny. He respected Alex for trying to help them but in the end it had been what cost him his life. It was why Chris was on his own, he had lost everyone else already.
He wondered if Becky had been through something similar, she looked worse for wear that much was clear. No one who fell through a door they were trying to open was in good condition.
As she spoke Chris noticed she was blushing. Maybe she didn't like having to accept his help, she'd accepted it though which meant she wasn't ruled by her own pride. It was something at least.
"Yeah you can stay here." He said with a shrug. "It'll be safer than outside at any rate."
Chris pushed his bag off the bed to make room for her to sit as he dropped back onto it.
"Everyone's going to have to be careful from now on." Chris said, running a hand through his hair. "Frank and Dylan are working together." He pointed to his arm to emphasize his point.
He thought about what Becky's reaction to the information would be, because as far as everyone else in the Program was concerned it was the worst news they could have possibly heard, at least in Chris's opinion. After all when the two biggest killers teamed up and both of them had guns.
Well that was just bad news for everyone.
Becky hobbled over to the bed as Chris spoke, taking the world off her crippled leg as she collapsed on to her rear. She wanted to collapse further, fall backwards into the bed’s warm embrace, but she couldn’t yet. Chris was there, and she wasn’t ready to pass out, not the moment she'd walked in.
The news that Dylan and Frank had teamed up wasn’t good, she knew that, but she’d lost the energy to care about who was out to kill who anymore. Maybe she’d already heard the news from Ashley and Audrey, which would explain why it sounded so trivial, but she couldn’t remember if that was so. Who was a murderer, or teaming up to be a bigger murderer, was irrelevant. In fact, she'd be more surprised to find out that someone wasn't a murderer by now: it just didn’t seem that there were enough of her friends alive anymore that they wouldn’t have had to kill someone to survive.
That probably applied to Chris as well, she supposed.
Her hands gripped the bed as she looked down at the floor, to save herself from having to look at Chris instead. She thought back on the news of a murderer team up, to distract herself from the all too likely present one. Dylan, she remembered meeting before, how she’d held a gun to her and, she dimly recalled, tried to kill her. She’d spared her though, out of some twisted mercy, and now she was killing more people. Frank, she hadn’t seen yet, but that was probably a good thing, what with all the murder.
No, it was no good: she had to know.
“Have you killed anyone?” she asked, muttering, even, as she still stared at the floor. “Cause I have.”
The news that Dylan and Frank had teamed up wasn’t good, she knew that, but she’d lost the energy to care about who was out to kill who anymore. Maybe she’d already heard the news from Ashley and Audrey, which would explain why it sounded so trivial, but she couldn’t remember if that was so. Who was a murderer, or teaming up to be a bigger murderer, was irrelevant. In fact, she'd be more surprised to find out that someone wasn't a murderer by now: it just didn’t seem that there were enough of her friends alive anymore that they wouldn’t have had to kill someone to survive.
That probably applied to Chris as well, she supposed.
Her hands gripped the bed as she looked down at the floor, to save herself from having to look at Chris instead. She thought back on the news of a murderer team up, to distract herself from the all too likely present one. Dylan, she remembered meeting before, how she’d held a gun to her and, she dimly recalled, tried to kill her. She’d spared her though, out of some twisted mercy, and now she was killing more people. Frank, she hadn’t seen yet, but that was probably a good thing, what with all the murder.
No, it was no good: she had to know.
“Have you killed anyone?” she asked, muttering, even, as she still stared at the floor. “Cause I have.”
Becky was hurt badly. It was obvious from the way she hobbled over to the bed. She was a fighter though, didn't say anything about her injury.
Becky sat down and didn't look at him, Chris had been expecting as much. He just lent back against the wall and waited, one of them would break the silence. There was too much at stake at this point not to, you needed to know about the person you were with. Not knowing whether you could trust not to stab you in the back or not.
Right now though both of them were as good as harmless, Becky could hardly walk and Chris couldn't move one of his arms without it exploding in pain.
That was when Becky broke the silence with the worst question she could have possibly asked.
Had Chris killed someone?
She added in that she had but it didn't make Chris any more comfortable. He remembered the feeling of the wrench hitting him in the stomach, the feeling of piercing through Garritt's flesh with the e-tool, the scream, the crying. All of it came rushing back. He ran his good hand over his face and through his hair, as if he was trying to wipe away the memories.
It didn't work.
"Yeah I have. I can't forget it." Chris wasn't sure he wanted to talk anymore about it but at the same time he found himself speaking anyway. "I impaled Garritt with my e-tool...and then I just sat there while he was crying and begging me for help. Then I just walked away and left him to die."
It was weird to talk about it so matter-of-factly, as if it wasn't even a big deal anymore. It scared Chris in a way, had he become so desensitized to death after being around it nearly constantly. The threat of it always looming over him had certainly been at the forefront of his mind on that first day, but since that night it had nearly vanished. He wasn't sure what was worse.
"What about you? Who did you kill?"
Becky sat down and didn't look at him, Chris had been expecting as much. He just lent back against the wall and waited, one of them would break the silence. There was too much at stake at this point not to, you needed to know about the person you were with. Not knowing whether you could trust not to stab you in the back or not.
Right now though both of them were as good as harmless, Becky could hardly walk and Chris couldn't move one of his arms without it exploding in pain.
That was when Becky broke the silence with the worst question she could have possibly asked.
Had Chris killed someone?
She added in that she had but it didn't make Chris any more comfortable. He remembered the feeling of the wrench hitting him in the stomach, the feeling of piercing through Garritt's flesh with the e-tool, the scream, the crying. All of it came rushing back. He ran his good hand over his face and through his hair, as if he was trying to wipe away the memories.
It didn't work.
"Yeah I have. I can't forget it." Chris wasn't sure he wanted to talk anymore about it but at the same time he found himself speaking anyway. "I impaled Garritt with my e-tool...and then I just sat there while he was crying and begging me for help. Then I just walked away and left him to die."
It was weird to talk about it so matter-of-factly, as if it wasn't even a big deal anymore. It scared Chris in a way, had he become so desensitized to death after being around it nearly constantly. The threat of it always looming over him had certainly been at the forefront of his mind on that first day, but since that night it had nearly vanished. He wasn't sure what was worse.
"What about you? Who did you kill?"
So Chris had killed someone then. Of course he had: that’s what she’d been telling herself would be the case, after all. Maybe she should have felt uncomfortable, being crippled in a room with a killer. Maybe being one made it easier to cope.
“I killed Erin.” She replied, it coming out much simpler than it should have. “Kicked her, and she got stabbed by a tree, somehow." ‘she had a gun on me’ Becky should have added, but didn’t: didn’t think to. Instead she just sighed. What difference did it make anyway, whether she’d done it in defence or on purpose? Would Chris have even believed her if she’d come forward about it? Would he care?
That wasn’t it though: it wasn’t that she didn’t think Chris would care, it was more that she didn’t care whether he cared. He’d already let her in for the night, and she didn’t think he’d throw her out again afterwards, not that she’d let him if he tried. From her quiet view from the bed she could see that his arm was in pretty bad shape, so he wouldn't have much chance of stopping her if he did decide to try and boot her out. And besides, Chris didn’t paint a pretty picture of his own kill, so he could hardly judge her any better than she could judge herself, otherwise he'd just be a hypocritical jerk.
Erin had been an accident. She was sorry that it had happened, but she didn’t feel guilty. She wouldn’t feel guilty about whatever happened next, just long as she got to go home in the end.
She found herself staring at the floor again, still avoiding looking at Chris. It wasn’t out of some stubborn pride this time, however, rather than just not knowing what to say.
Did she think knowing that Chris was a killer would help? Of course not, but she was supposed to not care. She wasn’t supposed to care about the fact that she was a killer, or that most of her friends were dead, or that she was surrounded by a lot of people who wanted her dead, or that she was crippled forever in the middle of it all. She was just supposed to work on getting home one step at a time, and not let anyone stand in her way.
But she was just tired. She was just so damn tired.
“Are you going to make it?” She muttered to Chris, still looking at the floor. “Not die, I mean.”
She couldn't think what else to say.
“I killed Erin.” She replied, it coming out much simpler than it should have. “Kicked her, and she got stabbed by a tree, somehow." ‘she had a gun on me’ Becky should have added, but didn’t: didn’t think to. Instead she just sighed. What difference did it make anyway, whether she’d done it in defence or on purpose? Would Chris have even believed her if she’d come forward about it? Would he care?
That wasn’t it though: it wasn’t that she didn’t think Chris would care, it was more that she didn’t care whether he cared. He’d already let her in for the night, and she didn’t think he’d throw her out again afterwards, not that she’d let him if he tried. From her quiet view from the bed she could see that his arm was in pretty bad shape, so he wouldn't have much chance of stopping her if he did decide to try and boot her out. And besides, Chris didn’t paint a pretty picture of his own kill, so he could hardly judge her any better than she could judge herself, otherwise he'd just be a hypocritical jerk.
Erin had been an accident. She was sorry that it had happened, but she didn’t feel guilty. She wouldn’t feel guilty about whatever happened next, just long as she got to go home in the end.
She found herself staring at the floor again, still avoiding looking at Chris. It wasn’t out of some stubborn pride this time, however, rather than just not knowing what to say.
Did she think knowing that Chris was a killer would help? Of course not, but she was supposed to not care. She wasn’t supposed to care about the fact that she was a killer, or that most of her friends were dead, or that she was surrounded by a lot of people who wanted her dead, or that she was crippled forever in the middle of it all. She was just supposed to work on getting home one step at a time, and not let anyone stand in her way.
But she was just tired. She was just so damn tired.
“Are you going to make it?” She muttered to Chris, still looking at the floor. “Not die, I mean.”
She couldn't think what else to say.
So Becky had killed Erin, it must have been a strong kick from the sound of it but it didn't look like Becky's kick were going to be a threat any time soon. So two killers were sharing the same shack. Not that it was that much of a big deal, Chris had a feeling everyone who was left in the Program was a killer. They weren't a threat to each other anyway; both of them were tired and had lost the use of one of their limbs.
Becky still wasn't looking at him, not that it really mattered, and he had gotten used to it. If she wanted to let her pride get in the way then who was he to stop her. She had accepted his help eventually and that was all he could do, offer help. If she didn't accept it he wasn't to blame.
Alex had tried to help everyone he could, even when they didn't want the help, it had led to his death. Chris still wished he could have done something, prevented Lenny from knocking Alex over the edge. It was impossible now though, he had been too slow, too distracted and it had cost him his last friend in the Program. Chris didn't know where Lenny had run off too but he wasn't going to let him walk away again.
He was broken out of his thoughts when Becky asked him if he was going to make it.
Going to make it?
She clarified what she meant and then it became much clearer.
Chris didn't even think about his answer.
"Yeah. I'm going to make it."
He had no intention of dying after all.
"Are you?"
Becky still wasn't looking at him, not that it really mattered, and he had gotten used to it. If she wanted to let her pride get in the way then who was he to stop her. She had accepted his help eventually and that was all he could do, offer help. If she didn't accept it he wasn't to blame.
Alex had tried to help everyone he could, even when they didn't want the help, it had led to his death. Chris still wished he could have done something, prevented Lenny from knocking Alex over the edge. It was impossible now though, he had been too slow, too distracted and it had cost him his last friend in the Program. Chris didn't know where Lenny had run off too but he wasn't going to let him walk away again.
He was broken out of his thoughts when Becky asked him if he was going to make it.
Going to make it?
She clarified what she meant and then it became much clearer.
Chris didn't even think about his answer.
"Yeah. I'm going to make it."
He had no intention of dying after all.
"Are you?"
“Yeah, I am.” Becky replied back, just as quickly. She wasn’t going to reply any other way, no matter what she believed. Even if she had no clue how she’d survive on a crippled leg, or if she’d be prepared to fight her way to the end, she knew she wasn’t going to die. It just wasn’t an option.
Her eyes were starting to grow heavy, the bed underneath her starting to feel more and more inviting. She didn’t think Chris was going to kill her anymore, even if they both intended to not die. Or maybe it was that even if she did think he was going to kill her, there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing except leave, and even then she didn’t want to spend the night sleeping in a log again.
She found herself pulled towards the bed, slumping down onto her side as the soft mattress beckoned her to give in. Her eyes were starting to grow heavy, and she didn’t think she could hold out much longer.
What would she do come morning, she wondered? Spend the day in Chris’ cabin? Would he even allow that? Was that all she was going to do anymore until this stupid thing was over and done with?
Well, it had kept her alive in spite of all odds so far. She didn’t have anything better to do, anyway.
“Hey, Chris?” she piped up, head still resting on the bed. “What are you going to do tomorrow?”
Her eyes were starting to grow heavy, the bed underneath her starting to feel more and more inviting. She didn’t think Chris was going to kill her anymore, even if they both intended to not die. Or maybe it was that even if she did think he was going to kill her, there was nothing she could do about it. Nothing except leave, and even then she didn’t want to spend the night sleeping in a log again.
She found herself pulled towards the bed, slumping down onto her side as the soft mattress beckoned her to give in. Her eyes were starting to grow heavy, and she didn’t think she could hold out much longer.
What would she do come morning, she wondered? Spend the day in Chris’ cabin? Would he even allow that? Was that all she was going to do anymore until this stupid thing was over and done with?
Well, it had kept her alive in spite of all odds so far. She didn’t have anything better to do, anyway.
“Hey, Chris?” she piped up, head still resting on the bed. “What are you going to do tomorrow?”
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ViolentMedic
- Posts: 148
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:50 am
((Dylan Walker continued from Armistice.))
Dylan had stopped briefly once she was far enough from Ash and Frank and everyone else to stick her gun back in her bag. She had next to no revolver bullets left. The rattling sound when she'd picked up the little box of ammo had been enough to tell her that, though she hadn't opened the box up and counted yet. It wasn't as if ammo altogether was an issue. She had the rifle from Tas and the other rifle from Frank. Upon realising she was low on ammo, she'd picked up the Henry Repeater and the instructions for it. She hadn't stopped for longer than it took to switch, and to dump any of Frank's useful belongings into her own bag. She wasn't far enough from the bodies. She needed to be further away.
She didn't want to think about Ashley. She didn't want to think about anything or anyone. Not about Frank or Maxim or Louisa or what her grandmother thought about her right now. So she wandered on, heavy bag slung over her shoulder. Henry Repeater under one arm, the instructions held in her free hand. She was only half-paying attention to her surroundings. She was more focused on the manual.
As long as she focused on all this technical jibber jabber, she wouldn't have to think about anything else.
The gun felt wrong in her hands. Too big and clunky and Dylan didn't understand exactly how it worked yet. Sure, triggers were triggers. But how did the rest of the gun work. How did she hold it, how did she cock it... The large, clunky feeling of the gun wasn't the only issue. This gun was just too similar to the one which had taken off her ear. It made her shiver.
Dylan turned a page of the manual as she stumbled on the cabin. She hadn't been inside since she'd first seen Tas. Since the first time she'd seen this rifle, even though it had been pointed at her face at the time. She hadn't had any guns on her at all, back then, and had swore to stay outdoors after ending up so close to getting shot. But the indoors sounded so good right now. Somewhere small and quiet to rest.
There were still bodies nearby. Dylan didn't look close enough to check who they were, though she could tell they were both female. No longer mattered.
There had to be somewhere in that house she could just... stop. Stop and hide. Until she could deal with everything again. Because this was all just too much. So she trudged up to the shack door and pushed it open. Only to come face to face with Chris Brooks, the first guy she and Frank had attacked together (and the only survivor out of everyone they'd encountered during that alliance) and Becky, the crippled girl who she'd met near the river even earlier.
There was a split second of rather awkward silence.
Dylan then recalled what had happened the last time she'd hesitated with Chris. A rock to the face. She wouldn't let that happen again. She wouldn't hesitate and let something worse happen, because every time she'd hesitated something bad had happened. And she'd come too far for that to happen any more.
So she dropped the instructions, aimed the rifle square at Chris and fired. She wasn't ready for the kick in comparison to her handgun, and almost dropped the rifle immediately.
Dylan had stopped briefly once she was far enough from Ash and Frank and everyone else to stick her gun back in her bag. She had next to no revolver bullets left. The rattling sound when she'd picked up the little box of ammo had been enough to tell her that, though she hadn't opened the box up and counted yet. It wasn't as if ammo altogether was an issue. She had the rifle from Tas and the other rifle from Frank. Upon realising she was low on ammo, she'd picked up the Henry Repeater and the instructions for it. She hadn't stopped for longer than it took to switch, and to dump any of Frank's useful belongings into her own bag. She wasn't far enough from the bodies. She needed to be further away.
She didn't want to think about Ashley. She didn't want to think about anything or anyone. Not about Frank or Maxim or Louisa or what her grandmother thought about her right now. So she wandered on, heavy bag slung over her shoulder. Henry Repeater under one arm, the instructions held in her free hand. She was only half-paying attention to her surroundings. She was more focused on the manual.
As long as she focused on all this technical jibber jabber, she wouldn't have to think about anything else.
The gun felt wrong in her hands. Too big and clunky and Dylan didn't understand exactly how it worked yet. Sure, triggers were triggers. But how did the rest of the gun work. How did she hold it, how did she cock it... The large, clunky feeling of the gun wasn't the only issue. This gun was just too similar to the one which had taken off her ear. It made her shiver.
Dylan turned a page of the manual as she stumbled on the cabin. She hadn't been inside since she'd first seen Tas. Since the first time she'd seen this rifle, even though it had been pointed at her face at the time. She hadn't had any guns on her at all, back then, and had swore to stay outdoors after ending up so close to getting shot. But the indoors sounded so good right now. Somewhere small and quiet to rest.
There were still bodies nearby. Dylan didn't look close enough to check who they were, though she could tell they were both female. No longer mattered.
There had to be somewhere in that house she could just... stop. Stop and hide. Until she could deal with everything again. Because this was all just too much. So she trudged up to the shack door and pushed it open. Only to come face to face with Chris Brooks, the first guy she and Frank had attacked together (and the only survivor out of everyone they'd encountered during that alliance) and Becky, the crippled girl who she'd met near the river even earlier.
There was a split second of rather awkward silence.
Dylan then recalled what had happened the last time she'd hesitated with Chris. A rock to the face. She wouldn't let that happen again. She wouldn't hesitate and let something worse happen, because every time she'd hesitated something bad had happened. And she'd come too far for that to happen any more.
So she dropped the instructions, aimed the rifle square at Chris and fired. She wasn't ready for the kick in comparison to her handgun, and almost dropped the rifle immediately.
Both of them intended to survive, that made things awkward since only one person could win. Chris didn't think about it too much, they'd have to deal with it at some point but it didn't have to be now, didn't have to disturb the small window of peace they had managed to find. The silence lasted longer as they both sat there, eventually Becky spoke up.
"Tomorrow...I guess I'll continue to survive."
What else could he do? After all he had lasted this long, how much harder could it be to go all the way? He moved him arm as if to remind himself that he was injured now, hopefully everyone else would be too, wasn't like they would have managed to avoid injury as long as they had,
Everyone's luck had to run out after all.
It was at that moment the door to the cabin was pushed open.
Dylan was standing in the doorway.
"Oh shi-" Chris said as he pushed himself up. A split-second to move. That was as far as he got.
The bullet ripped through his chest. The pain was incredible. Chris collapsed to the floor next to his bag. He could feel the bullet lodge itself somewhere. Maybe his lung? He reached out for his bag. It was do or die. His hand reached inside and touched something metal. It would do. He pushed himself up. Had to push through all the barriers. He rushed Dylan and lashed out. The meat hook pierced into her shoulder. Chris fell but kept his grip, the hook pulled down, cut something and then got stuck.
He wanted to keep fighting but his body was done. It had been beaten up too much over the course of the Program. His vision started to darken and he became aware of the blood slowly pooling around him. How much damage had the bullet done? Chris tried to push himself up. His arms gave out and he landed hard on his arm. Pain shot from his chest through his whole body. He was done.
After everything he'd survived. He died the same way Alex had. He'd been caught off-guard. He could have died on the first day exactly like he was dying now. It was almost funny.
"Fuck you."
"Tomorrow...I guess I'll continue to survive."
What else could he do? After all he had lasted this long, how much harder could it be to go all the way? He moved him arm as if to remind himself that he was injured now, hopefully everyone else would be too, wasn't like they would have managed to avoid injury as long as they had,
Everyone's luck had to run out after all.
It was at that moment the door to the cabin was pushed open.
Dylan was standing in the doorway.
"Oh shi-" Chris said as he pushed himself up. A split-second to move. That was as far as he got.
The bullet ripped through his chest. The pain was incredible. Chris collapsed to the floor next to his bag. He could feel the bullet lodge itself somewhere. Maybe his lung? He reached out for his bag. It was do or die. His hand reached inside and touched something metal. It would do. He pushed himself up. Had to push through all the barriers. He rushed Dylan and lashed out. The meat hook pierced into her shoulder. Chris fell but kept his grip, the hook pulled down, cut something and then got stuck.
He wanted to keep fighting but his body was done. It had been beaten up too much over the course of the Program. His vision started to darken and he became aware of the blood slowly pooling around him. How much damage had the bullet done? Chris tried to push himself up. His arms gave out and he landed hard on his arm. Pain shot from his chest through his whole body. He was done.
After everything he'd survived. He died the same way Alex had. He'd been caught off-guard. He could have died on the first day exactly like he was dying now. It was almost funny.
"Fuck you."
M12: CHRIS BROOKS - DECEASED
5 STUDENTS REMAIN
5 STUDENTS REMAIN
They were both going to keep surviving. That was good enough an answer for Becky, even if it was inherently flawed. Even if the rules were that only one person could live, that didn’t mean they had to be dead by tomorrow. They could just keep going, however long it took for her to get home.
It would have been nice to keep thinking like that, but Chris’ and her luck had finally run out by the time Dylan Walker walked in the door.
Becky shot up as fast as Dylan shot Chris, but it was already too late. She could only watch as the bullet went into him, and he flew to the ground. She screamed as blood started to leak out of his chest. She watched him hit the floor, injured, dying, as her mouth hung open in shock.
She had made it this far without seeing anyone get hurt. She’d seen Erin die, but that had happened all at once, and she’d been shot in the leg and crippled, but that was just the leg. Chris was shot, and he was bleeding, and he was dying. Even though it’d happened to dozens of people already, she’d managed to block herself off from the rest of the Program for so long that Chris might as well have been the first casualty as far as Becky saw.
So she did all she could think to do: she grabbed her crutch, drove it into the ground, and charged at Dylan as fast as she could hobble.
Chris had gotten back up by then, and he was fighting back, but it wasn’t enough. He got a blow in, and Dylan got hurt, but he was losing, and then he went down. Becky drew her knife from her pocket as she limped towards him, ready to do the only thing she knew how to anymore. It had saved her from Shawn and Yumi on the first day, it might have saved her from Damien and Brian if she’d been just a bit faster, and it probably wasn’t about to save Chris. But if nothing else, as she got close enough to lunge towards Dylan with the knife as best as she could on one leg and a crutch, maybe, just maybe, it could at least save her now.
It would have been nice to keep thinking like that, but Chris’ and her luck had finally run out by the time Dylan Walker walked in the door.
Becky shot up as fast as Dylan shot Chris, but it was already too late. She could only watch as the bullet went into him, and he flew to the ground. She screamed as blood started to leak out of his chest. She watched him hit the floor, injured, dying, as her mouth hung open in shock.
She had made it this far without seeing anyone get hurt. She’d seen Erin die, but that had happened all at once, and she’d been shot in the leg and crippled, but that was just the leg. Chris was shot, and he was bleeding, and he was dying. Even though it’d happened to dozens of people already, she’d managed to block herself off from the rest of the Program for so long that Chris might as well have been the first casualty as far as Becky saw.
So she did all she could think to do: she grabbed her crutch, drove it into the ground, and charged at Dylan as fast as she could hobble.
Chris had gotten back up by then, and he was fighting back, but it wasn’t enough. He got a blow in, and Dylan got hurt, but he was losing, and then he went down. Becky drew her knife from her pocket as she limped towards him, ready to do the only thing she knew how to anymore. It had saved her from Shawn and Yumi on the first day, it might have saved her from Damien and Brian if she’d been just a bit faster, and it probably wasn’t about to save Chris. But if nothing else, as she got close enough to lunge towards Dylan with the knife as best as she could on one leg and a crutch, maybe, just maybe, it could at least save her now.
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ViolentMedic
- Posts: 148
- Joined: Fri Aug 17, 2018 7:50 am
Gunshot. Bullet hit Chris. It should have ended there. Everyone else had ceased to become a threat when the bullet dug into them. But Chris just... kept going. And Dylan was too confused and freaked out over the fact that he was still going, as well as ignorant over how to cock the rifle she was holding, that she didn't properly react until he'd attacked.
She registered a weird pulling sensation. Like something had caught on her shirt, but... deeper. She noticed him topple over. She thought for a moment that it'd been a false alarm, not yet registering what he'd done.
But he wasn't the only one in the room. Becky was there, too. And maybe Dylan would have left her, because a girl who could barely run was no threat, was she? But she was... was she charging? Why was she? Didn't she realise gun vs. knife... but Dylan didn't know how to use the rifle. She just couldn't remember how to cock it...
Dylan panicked. She improvised. She stumbled away in a clumsy effort to get away from the knife and turned the rifle around so she was holding the barrel. Her left arm was all twitchy suddenly. Why was that?
Then, with all the strength she had, she swung the rifle like a baseball bat. Straight at Becky's face.
Crack.
She felt a strong sense of deja vu.
She registered a weird pulling sensation. Like something had caught on her shirt, but... deeper. She noticed him topple over. She thought for a moment that it'd been a false alarm, not yet registering what he'd done.
But he wasn't the only one in the room. Becky was there, too. And maybe Dylan would have left her, because a girl who could barely run was no threat, was she? But she was... was she charging? Why was she? Didn't she realise gun vs. knife... but Dylan didn't know how to use the rifle. She just couldn't remember how to cock it...
Dylan panicked. She improvised. She stumbled away in a clumsy effort to get away from the knife and turned the rifle around so she was holding the barrel. Her left arm was all twitchy suddenly. Why was that?
Then, with all the strength she had, she swung the rifle like a baseball bat. Straight at Becky's face.
Crack.
She felt a strong sense of deja vu.
She saw her knife fail to hit Dylan, but she felt it happening the moment she'd lunged forwards. Supporting herself on a crutch had thrown her balance off, charging towards Dylan had screwed up her sense of distance, and days upon days of struggling to survive had ruined all of her years of training.
She wouldn’t get another chance. As she missed, she had to catch herself from tripping over her own two feet and falling to the ground as Chris had just done for the second and last time. She had to accommodate her crippled leg, the one that had ruined her life, and that was all it took for her to lose the fight.
As Dylan swung the rifle into her face, she didn’t even have time to bring up her arm to brace herself. Maybe she’d just been too slow, or maybe she wasn’t prepared for someone to bring a real weapon into a fight. What had happened with Brian and Damien hadn’t been a real fight, and she’d been able to kick everyone else’s asses before, but Dylan was cheating. Dylan had a club, and Dylan smashed it right into her skull.
She blacked out instantly. Her forehead splintered backwards into her brain, sealing her fate as it started to hemorrhage. It didn’t matter though: Becky had already lost consciousness, helpless before Dylan. Had she remained awake, she would have still tried to fight Dylan, and she would have done her best to finish her off. She wanted to keep fighting, no matter how tired she got, just so that she could go home again and see her parents, her brother and all of her friends, finish school, and go do whatever she’d do. She'd get her black belt at last, go camp in all the different forests of North America, just go back to living her life. She was prepared to fight for it, and she would have gone all the way, too.
It didn’t matter though. From the moment her name had been drawn in that stupid lottery, she had been living on borrowed time. As the blood pooled into her brain, crushing it as the pressure built and killed her, that borrowed time finally ran out.
She wouldn’t get another chance. As she missed, she had to catch herself from tripping over her own two feet and falling to the ground as Chris had just done for the second and last time. She had to accommodate her crippled leg, the one that had ruined her life, and that was all it took for her to lose the fight.
As Dylan swung the rifle into her face, she didn’t even have time to bring up her arm to brace herself. Maybe she’d just been too slow, or maybe she wasn’t prepared for someone to bring a real weapon into a fight. What had happened with Brian and Damien hadn’t been a real fight, and she’d been able to kick everyone else’s asses before, but Dylan was cheating. Dylan had a club, and Dylan smashed it right into her skull.
She blacked out instantly. Her forehead splintered backwards into her brain, sealing her fate as it started to hemorrhage. It didn’t matter though: Becky had already lost consciousness, helpless before Dylan. Had she remained awake, she would have still tried to fight Dylan, and she would have done her best to finish her off. She wanted to keep fighting, no matter how tired she got, just so that she could go home again and see her parents, her brother and all of her friends, finish school, and go do whatever she’d do. She'd get her black belt at last, go camp in all the different forests of North America, just go back to living her life. She was prepared to fight for it, and she would have gone all the way, too.
It didn’t matter though. From the moment her name had been drawn in that stupid lottery, she had been living on borrowed time. As the blood pooled into her brain, crushing it as the pressure built and killed her, that borrowed time finally ran out.
F13: REBECCA LONG – DECEASED
4 STUDENTS REMAIN
4 STUDENTS REMAIN