Just Me, a Block of Dirt, and a Cavern of Danger

[Pippi]

((Owen Kay continued from Huddle))

There was a lot for Owen to think about. It was almost fortunate that he had so much time to do so.

He'd left the shopping centre with no idea of where he was going. Some part of Owen had wanted to keep things that way; to just wander across the island with no fixed goal, just doing something in a desperate attempt to keep all his thoughts from solidifying, as they had been threatening to do since he'd first woken up on the island. But logic had taken over; it was dark out and he had no torch. The danger zones were becoming permanent now, and Owen needed to sleep and wait the night out before he started moving again.

Somehow, he'd managed to find himself in some sort of residential area, filled with the outlines of streetlights and derelict buildings. He had made his way into one which looked vaguely serviceable to protect himself from the chill of the night air. He had curled himself up, with only his bag of clothing as a pillow, and as he'd done so, his mind had begun to settle. Even if he'd been at home in an actual bed without the fatigue and hunger that had accumulated over the past few days, the images that flooded his mind would have kept sleep at bay anyway. There was everything that had happened earlier; the shopping centre, Ben, the barricade, Joe, Travis, two more dead bodies, two more graves. Aileen. Mingled with those images was everything else that had happened to Owen on the island. The hospital, Lauren, grouping with Aileen and Naomi, Summer, Edgar, the announcement of Amy's death, Hansel, the amusement park, and the one constant image. Aileen.

Somehow, through the tears and shivering, Owen had managed to fall asleep.

A few hours later, he was woken by the announcement. He sat up, realising he'd fallen asleep in the hallway of a long abandoned house. He didn't stir, didn't move, didn't try to get up and leave for somewhere else. He did his best to block the announcement out. He knew that Ben and Aileen's names would be on it. He didn't want to pay any attention to it; the images were still fresh in his mind. But more names stood out for him. There was Jack, tennis Jack, first of all. Dead. Another one of his friends dead. How many was that now? Then there was Jessica, who'd apparently killed herself. How long after she'd fled the amusement park had that been? Finally, Janie. The girl who Ben had killed. Owen didn't know her all that well, but it still stung, having a name and a face to attach to Ben's deed.

The names and images continued to swirl around Owen's head as he sat there, back against the cracked wall of this house, an involuntary yawn escaping him. He'd spent so much time trying to block all his thoughts out. Maybe now was the best time to actually sort them all out.

The first thought that popped into his mind was that Aileen had saved his life. It could easily have been him bleeding out on the floor, him buried in a shallow grave marked only with his initials. But Aileen had died in his place. After all she had done to help Owen, that was her reward.

Not for the first time, Owen thought about how strange it was that they'd ended up travelling together. They had spoken, what, once, maybe twice back at school? Owen couldn't say Aileen would have been his first choice of people to meet, and he was sure Aileen had felt the same way. And yet, they had spent almost an entire week by each others' sides. Owen would have trusted Aileen with anything. And now she was dead. She hadn't needed to die, if only he hadn't been so fucking stupid and started a fight with Travis, a known killer. She had died, and Owen hadn't even been able to promise he'd stay alive until the very end.

Because he knew that he really couldn't. The tiny speck of hope that rescue was on its way at this very second was growing smaller and smaller with each passing day. Owen had no idea of whether escape was even possible, or how to even start going about it. Even if he had, he knew he'd be too scared to try. There were so many things that could go wrong, so many ways the terrorists could put a stop to what he was doing, that it was almost tantamount to suicide.

So what was he going to do, then? Could he survive to the end? Maybe. Maybe not. There were people on the island who had killed, people with better weapons than him and in better condition. Owen shifted a little, feeling a slight pain in his arm where Travis had cut him. It was a small wound, but even the smallest disadvantage could be decisive out here. Could he kill someone? In cold blood, no. Not in the slightest. No matter who it was.

But if his life depended on it, if killing somebody was the only way to stop them from doing the same to him? Owen still didn't know. Maybe time would tell. If Owen wanted to get off of this island in a manner that didn't involve a body bag, he would have to.

Owen spent a few more minutes just sitting there, mind a little calmer yet still filled with unanswered questions and disturbing images. Finally, he picked himself up, using the wall behind him as aid. He took one of the tins from his bag. He realised now that he didn't have the box cutter Ben had given him and Aileen; he'd left it behind in the shopping centre. It took a few more minutes to find an alternative. There were a few nails strewn about the place. Maybe using them to open the tins was unhygienic, but it was using them or starving to death.

The tin was full of liquid. Soup. Tomato soup. Owen hated soup. He'd wondered, once upon a time, if he had nothing left to eat but food he hated whether he'd eat it as quickly as he did the stuff he loved. It turned out that, yes, yes he would. The empty tin bounced once before rolling away into another dark, musty room. A second tin followed the same fate.

Once he'd eaten, Owen kicked his shoes off, before grabbing the set of clothes from his plastic bag. He removed his old, dirty clothing, replacing it with a clean, black t-shirt and a new pair of jeans. He still hadn't showered or washed for a week or so, but it was better than nothing. Owen looked at the small pile of clothes now lying on the floor, considering leaving them there. Eventually, he picked them up and tossed them in one of the plastic bags. He didn't know when they might come in handy. More than that, though, they were the last remaining things tying him to his old life. It just felt wrong to discard them.

Owen grabbed his bags and his table leg, before walking out the door of the house. He blinked a couple of times in the morning sun, quickly wiping his glasses clean of dirt and dust with his clean new t-shirt. Then he started walking.

Owen still didn't have the answers or ideas he wanted. But he knew he didn't want to die.

((Owen Kay continued in A Human Work))