Delirium

[Badb†]

((Dave Morrison, continued from In Honesty, We Didn't Plan This Far.))

Dave Morrison was starting to get dizzy. His head was spinning more and more with every step he was taking, which, to be honest, was really starting to get annoying, to say the least.

Still no closer to finding his bags than he was back with the others, Dave sat down. His legs were killing him, worse than they had been before on the island, even when he cut his knees open tackling Roland to the ground.

He laid his head back, and before he knew it, the world went dark.

He woke back up, pushing himself up to his feet in a motion that took far too much effort than it should have. He took a few shaky steps before finding his balance again and continuing on.

A little further in, Dave spotted a figure, off in the distance. Was that who he thought it was? Dave honestly thought he was dead. The fact that he wasn't, however, raised more questions than it answered. Why hadn't he joined the rest of the group? What the fuck had happened to him? Why was he still in the swamp? This made no sense. Dave needed answers.

"Roland?" He enquired at the figure, but it didn't respond. "Roland, you fucker, you fucking-"

He didn't acknowledge his existence, just walking off.

Dave stood up with some effort and gave chase, until the figure vanished.

Dave ran after him, through the trees.

"ROLAND?!" Dave yelled, scanning every tree, every foxhole. Where'd the fucker run to? God damn it.

He had to hunt him down. The asshole probably had his bags, too. That'd explain why he couldn't find them. It explained everything.

Unfortunately, the trail stopped at the water, so Dave found himself at an impasse. He looked down at the water and his head hurt more, but it seemed like that was the only way for him to catch Roland, so he stepped in. It was only knee deep, not too bad, but it was cold, and stank like all hell. Dave waded through, trying to get to the bank on the other side, when he stopped dead in his tracks to look around.

There, on the other side of the swamp, he saw a familiar long-haired girl.

"Izzy?" His eyes widened. What the fuck was going on here? Were they just trying to fuck with him now?

"Very fucking funny, guys!" Dave yelled, for the first time noticing how it was harder to talk now. His tongue felt like it no longer belonged in his mouth, swollen and bloated. Dave carried on wading through, getting back on solid ground with some effort and making a beeline to where he thought he saw Isabel. Roland was nowhere to be found, but Dave didn't focus on him. If he was gone, so be it. Dave was focused on finding Isabel now.

But his head was still pounding.

For the second time, Dave fell to the floor, caking his body in mud and dirt.

The world came back into a blurry focus.

Dave crawled along on his hands and knees, lacking the strength to push himself up to his feet again. He crawled up to someone. Whether they were alive or dead didn't matter. He just needed something.

He pushed him up, trying to get a better look at them.

He looked down at the familiar face of the bloodied body.

"...Roland?"

Exhausted, starved, and- fatally- dehydrated, Dave Morrison collapsed for the third and final time.

B20: David Morrison: Deceased.