[[Gervais Frans Lambotte, continued from Sound of an Airplane going oh fuck off with your super long thread titles]]
Abel was dead, huh?
Of all the people in the island, he was the first one to die.
Gervais spoke those words out loud once. They didn't sound right. Didn't do so on try number two either.
Him and another hundred-whatever students had been thrown on this island to duke it out till everyone but one was dead. When Gervais had found a place the evening to before to spend his night, he had begun to make a list with as many names of those hundred-whatever students he could muster from memory. He couldn't remember everyone. Probably no one could. He knew of Ty, of course. And of Jackson - that ass-head - and Wyatt and so on and so on. He remembered Abel, too. Of course. And then when he remembered, he turned his list into a ranking. A question of who would be his top contender. And he put Abel high up. Of all the people on this island, Gervais had considered Abel to be one of his most dangerous rivals.
In a fleeting moment, Gervais had almost thought that he wouldn't mind if someone like Abel would win over him. He put that aside quickly. Because it was a silly thought. And because it did not matter.
"Abel was dead..."
Third time wasn't the charm either.
Gervais continued crouching where he was - some corner of some house in the village - after the announcement had long ended. He was awake, but he kept his eyes closed. He got tired of the look of rotting walls and tiles around him. He got tired of thinking. He got tired. So tired.
It wasn't supposed to be how it was. He, Gervais Frans Lambotte, was supposed to be the top player of Survival of the Fittest. All his life, he had learned to adapt. And he learned to let go of the past. And he did the same now on the island, didn't he? He didn't care about his classmates and their stupid alliances and plans and deaths. All he needed was to win. To forget everything else, and survive until the end. And yet all his first day earned him was a wound in the thigh, vomit on his shoes and bad hair.
He hated it. All of it. If he could, he would've gone back to sleep that instant.
In the end he didn't. There was someone nearby. He opened his eyes, took his bag and rifle and took the first step of that morning.
Strategic Realism
Private.
Gervais Frans Lambotte 
Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern
||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
No unnecessary suffering.
Ty had told himself something similar the night before, and that hadn’t exactly turned out well. Didn’t mean it was necessarily a bad sentiment, or one he wouldn’t try to uphold. He hoped Parker would do the same, for his sake. The last thing Ty wanted to feel certainly wasn’t the kind of struggle he’d subjected himself to earlier. He rubbed the bruise on his neck. It had been a few minutes; enough time for Parker to get a good head start. Ty had meant what he said. A few things could happen next. He’d meet with Erika, and she’d either forgive him and he would die by her side, or she’d not and he would have to find his own way to helping her.
As far as he could tell that would manifest in one distasteful task after another until either there was no one else left that he needed to kill or someone managed to get the better of him. Not exactly the ending he’d hoped for, but it was a last resort if she truly didn’t want him around.
Of course, there was also the possibility that she died before he could find her. That meant finding the few people he knew shouldn’t make it off the island, ending them, and leaving the rest to chance. It was also a sour thought, one Ty tried not to let linger in his mind. He stood up from his place in the broken house, shouldering his duffel bag and picking up the crowbar. The weight of it was starting to get familiar now, and he took a few practice swings. All things considered, not the worst weapon he could’ve been given.
Taking a step into the grey-blue morning light, he held out a hand to the sky. It wasn’t raining just yet, but it would start soon. The woods to the north might provide decent enough cover, but part of him wanted to return to the Temple. It was pretty isolated and the path to it was easy to spot people from. Beyond that, there were precious few other areas that held sufficient shelter and were far-flung enough not to be overcrowded. The manor area came to mind as well, though he supposed that people who’d taken to avoiding the village would naturally gravitate there. The sounds he heard from there the day prior came to mind, and he opted against it.
As vaguely appealing as the site of his awakening was, going that direction meant taking paths through the south of the island. As he’d mentioned to Parker, it was kind of a clusterfuck.
North it is, then – but which way is that, exactly?
Standing a few yards out from the house, Ty surveyed the area around him. Trying to orient himself was more than a bit confusing, given that everything looked different during the day. Especially the corner of a nearby house which he was certain didn’t used to have someone standing there when he’d arrived here early in the morning.
“Gervais?”
Ty slowly turned to face him, looking the boy up and down. It seemed like he’d had almost as bad of a time as Ty had. Someone had fucked up his face for starters; he had a tear in his pants that given the bloodstain could’ve been a stab wound, as well as a strange stain that looked like it might’ve been vomit on the front of his now-filthy sweater vest. His pitiable body language seemed to wrap up all of this in an air of sad dishevelment that caught Ty largely off guard. It was kind of funny to see Gervais standing there awkwardly, if he was being honest with himself, and he commented accordingly.
“Well, you look like shit.”
It was then his eyes fell to the most important facet of the unexpected arrival's appearance. A weapon, which Ty could now tell was some kind of old rifle.
Explains the smoke and giant lead bullets. Possibly his shit aim.
The two of them stared one another down, neither moving. Ty knew if he could reach for his pistol, he likely had a chance to fire off a few wild shots before Gervais could raise it and aim.
If I hadn’t left it in my bag.
Alarm manifested in a sensation that he could only think of as dozens of needles suddenly prodding at his heart. The gun was there so that Parker wouldn’t regard him as a threat. In thinking of where he’d have to head off to, he hadn’t remembered to take it back out. Now he truly needed it, and it might as well have been on the surface of the moon.
All Ty had was the crowbar, held firmly in his right hand. The distance wasn’t great, but it was far enough to make charging him down suicidal. The moment to act arrived with little warning. The two broke their mutual stare, Gervais raising his rifle as Ty held up the crowbar.
Ty did the only thing he could think of to defend himself, and let out an enraged shout as he did so.
Ty had told himself something similar the night before, and that hadn’t exactly turned out well. Didn’t mean it was necessarily a bad sentiment, or one he wouldn’t try to uphold. He hoped Parker would do the same, for his sake. The last thing Ty wanted to feel certainly wasn’t the kind of struggle he’d subjected himself to earlier. He rubbed the bruise on his neck. It had been a few minutes; enough time for Parker to get a good head start. Ty had meant what he said. A few things could happen next. He’d meet with Erika, and she’d either forgive him and he would die by her side, or she’d not and he would have to find his own way to helping her.
As far as he could tell that would manifest in one distasteful task after another until either there was no one else left that he needed to kill or someone managed to get the better of him. Not exactly the ending he’d hoped for, but it was a last resort if she truly didn’t want him around.
Of course, there was also the possibility that she died before he could find her. That meant finding the few people he knew shouldn’t make it off the island, ending them, and leaving the rest to chance. It was also a sour thought, one Ty tried not to let linger in his mind. He stood up from his place in the broken house, shouldering his duffel bag and picking up the crowbar. The weight of it was starting to get familiar now, and he took a few practice swings. All things considered, not the worst weapon he could’ve been given.
Taking a step into the grey-blue morning light, he held out a hand to the sky. It wasn’t raining just yet, but it would start soon. The woods to the north might provide decent enough cover, but part of him wanted to return to the Temple. It was pretty isolated and the path to it was easy to spot people from. Beyond that, there were precious few other areas that held sufficient shelter and were far-flung enough not to be overcrowded. The manor area came to mind as well, though he supposed that people who’d taken to avoiding the village would naturally gravitate there. The sounds he heard from there the day prior came to mind, and he opted against it.
As vaguely appealing as the site of his awakening was, going that direction meant taking paths through the south of the island. As he’d mentioned to Parker, it was kind of a clusterfuck.
North it is, then – but which way is that, exactly?
Standing a few yards out from the house, Ty surveyed the area around him. Trying to orient himself was more than a bit confusing, given that everything looked different during the day. Especially the corner of a nearby house which he was certain didn’t used to have someone standing there when he’d arrived here early in the morning.
“Gervais?”
Ty slowly turned to face him, looking the boy up and down. It seemed like he’d had almost as bad of a time as Ty had. Someone had fucked up his face for starters; he had a tear in his pants that given the bloodstain could’ve been a stab wound, as well as a strange stain that looked like it might’ve been vomit on the front of his now-filthy sweater vest. His pitiable body language seemed to wrap up all of this in an air of sad dishevelment that caught Ty largely off guard. It was kind of funny to see Gervais standing there awkwardly, if he was being honest with himself, and he commented accordingly.
“Well, you look like shit.”
It was then his eyes fell to the most important facet of the unexpected arrival's appearance. A weapon, which Ty could now tell was some kind of old rifle.
Explains the smoke and giant lead bullets. Possibly his shit aim.
The two of them stared one another down, neither moving. Ty knew if he could reach for his pistol, he likely had a chance to fire off a few wild shots before Gervais could raise it and aim.
If I hadn’t left it in my bag.
Alarm manifested in a sensation that he could only think of as dozens of needles suddenly prodding at his heart. The gun was there so that Parker wouldn’t regard him as a threat. In thinking of where he’d have to head off to, he hadn’t remembered to take it back out. Now he truly needed it, and it might as well have been on the surface of the moon.
All Ty had was the crowbar, held firmly in his right hand. The distance wasn’t great, but it was far enough to make charging him down suicidal. The moment to act arrived with little warning. The two broke their mutual stare, Gervais raising his rifle as Ty held up the crowbar.
Ty did the only thing he could think of to defend himself, and let out an enraged shout as he did so.
He bared his teeth, flashing Ty a sinister grin. He couldn't believe the luck he was having here. Tyrell Lahti. Metal kid, looked like one of these kinds of people you'd suspect would shoot up their school. Ugly prejudices, of course, until Ty actually appeared on the announcement. Twice. Gervais had a feeling Ty would be one of the more troublesome rivals he'd had for survival. The announcement of his killings just confirmed that. In other words, Ty was dangerous. And Gervais needed a plan to encounter people like him. Or the very least, a good moment to make the most of it.
Something like, Ty standing there with a crowbar in hand. Enough distance between the two so that sprint with that metal rod would be useless. Close enough that Gervais was confident in hitting the mark. He had the experience now, he could do it. Really, Gervais believed in taking the opportunities as they were, and goddamn if that wasn't an opportunity as no other.
He held his rifle tightly, and raised it.
He had expected Ty to make a futile charge.
He did not expect Ty just chucking the crowbar.
In the milliseconds before impact, Gervais thought something like are you fucking kidding me, except not because the crowbar hit strong and fast.
A sharp sting in his face, and the next thing Gervais felt was his body hitting the ground. There were flickering lights before his eyes, but he could still see Ty approaching.
Shit.
Something like, Ty standing there with a crowbar in hand. Enough distance between the two so that sprint with that metal rod would be useless. Close enough that Gervais was confident in hitting the mark. He had the experience now, he could do it. Really, Gervais believed in taking the opportunities as they were, and goddamn if that wasn't an opportunity as no other.
He held his rifle tightly, and raised it.
He had expected Ty to make a futile charge.
He did not expect Ty just chucking the crowbar.
In the milliseconds before impact, Gervais thought something like are you fucking kidding me, except not because the crowbar hit strong and fast.
A sharp sting in his face, and the next thing Gervais felt was his body hitting the ground. There were flickering lights before his eyes, but he could still see Ty approaching.
Shit.
To his delight, the crowbar actually hit Gervais.
In the face, too!
Ty had hoped even if it missed it’d be enough of a distraction to allow him to close the distance; he couldn’t help but grin on seeing Gervais crumple to the ground. Unfortunately for Gervais, he still seemed to be conscious. Ty set upon him in seconds, not wasting another moment to relish his stroke of luck. Running over, he grabbed the fallen rifle and set it aside, intent to not offer another opportunity to get shot at.
At least by this particular douchebag.
He was on his side. That wouldn’t do. Ty wanted to look him in the face, as messed up as it seemed to be. Wanted Gervais to really appreciate how badly he’d screwed up. The bloodstain on Gervais’ leg called out to Ty, and he promptly kicked it.
That got him moving again. Making all kinds of irritating noises, too. Noises that’d definitely call out further attention. Ty picked up the crowbar from the ground, and promptly swung the blunt end at Gervais’ ribs. The dull thud of the impact was accompanied by a startling popping noise and the sound of wheezing.
All he’d tried to do was shoot Ty. Not in itself a stupid thing to try to do, given the circumstances.
Nice try.
Now he was lying on the ground with the wind knocked out of him, the wound on his leg bleeding once again, and what was likely a broken rib. Minus a gun, and Ty suspected a fair amount of self-worth.
“Way to fuck up. Can’t say I’m surprised.”
Ty knelt down next to Gervais, grabbing him by the collar of his sweater vest and hoisting him up almost to a sitting position. The tone of his voice made it abundantly clear that he was only barely holding back from picking up the crowbar again and finishing the job.
“Are you?”
In the face, too!
Ty had hoped even if it missed it’d be enough of a distraction to allow him to close the distance; he couldn’t help but grin on seeing Gervais crumple to the ground. Unfortunately for Gervais, he still seemed to be conscious. Ty set upon him in seconds, not wasting another moment to relish his stroke of luck. Running over, he grabbed the fallen rifle and set it aside, intent to not offer another opportunity to get shot at.
At least by this particular douchebag.
He was on his side. That wouldn’t do. Ty wanted to look him in the face, as messed up as it seemed to be. Wanted Gervais to really appreciate how badly he’d screwed up. The bloodstain on Gervais’ leg called out to Ty, and he promptly kicked it.
That got him moving again. Making all kinds of irritating noises, too. Noises that’d definitely call out further attention. Ty picked up the crowbar from the ground, and promptly swung the blunt end at Gervais’ ribs. The dull thud of the impact was accompanied by a startling popping noise and the sound of wheezing.
All he’d tried to do was shoot Ty. Not in itself a stupid thing to try to do, given the circumstances.
Nice try.
Now he was lying on the ground with the wind knocked out of him, the wound on his leg bleeding once again, and what was likely a broken rib. Minus a gun, and Ty suspected a fair amount of self-worth.
“Way to fuck up. Can’t say I’m surprised.”
Ty knelt down next to Gervais, grabbing him by the collar of his sweater vest and hoisting him up almost to a sitting position. The tone of his voice made it abundantly clear that he was only barely holding back from picking up the crowbar again and finishing the job.
“Are you?”
Surprised? Him? Because he again against all odds lost a fight with a gun to a guy without one?
Yeah just maybe a little.
Gervais got the headache of a lifetime, and it made it hard for him to think. Even meeting Ty's eyes was am exercise.
The first shot the day before? Missed, but that was practise. Losing against Cecil? Well, Jackson interrupted so hardly fair. Missing the shot at Ty, well now that was just bad luck. But that could happen to anyone. Now, all things considered, Gervais was still in a good position. Breathing, conscious.
Ty made the mistake of not shooting him right away. And that would be his undoing.
All Gervais needed were some clever words to use. Stall for some time and then free himself and... do something.
Thinking was hard.
"Fuck you."
He said and spat into Ty's face.
Yeah just maybe a little.
Gervais got the headache of a lifetime, and it made it hard for him to think. Even meeting Ty's eyes was am exercise.
The first shot the day before? Missed, but that was practise. Losing against Cecil? Well, Jackson interrupted so hardly fair. Missing the shot at Ty, well now that was just bad luck. But that could happen to anyone. Now, all things considered, Gervais was still in a good position. Breathing, conscious.
Ty made the mistake of not shooting him right away. And that would be his undoing.
All Gervais needed were some clever words to use. Stall for some time and then free himself and... do something.
Thinking was hard.
"Fuck you."
He said and spat into Ty's face.
Ty felt more disappointment than anger as Gervais spat in his face. He wasn't sure what he'd been hoping for; maybe something more exciting. Didn't he want to live? Was that gesture of defiance what Gervais thought would get him through this? It wasn't like he expected the guy to beg, but anything would've been better than an invitation to end him.
I'm not sure how much was going on in this guy's head even before a crowbar hit it.
Maybe he thought his final act on this earth would seem admirable, as if he was facing down his doom instead of turning away from it. Maybe it seemed like it'd make for a good story to tell. Was that what he wanted?
I can't see it.
No, there was no strategy here. It wasn't brave. It was just a kid who realized too late that he needed more than a gun to come out on top in this place, and couldn't think of anything better to say to a person who had more than a few reasons to kill him.
What a hollow person.
Looking into his eyes, Ty saw nothing. No glint of a spirit. No malice. A fake person who rotated in and out of personas as a situation demanded.
Nothing worth sparing.
Ty let go of Gervais' collar at the same time he delivered a straight punch to the temple, sending him sprawling back to the ground. Confident he wasn't getting back up, Ty started to rummage through the other boy's supplies, finding a shirt that he used to wipe the bloody spit from his face.
I'm not sure how much was going on in this guy's head even before a crowbar hit it.
Maybe he thought his final act on this earth would seem admirable, as if he was facing down his doom instead of turning away from it. Maybe it seemed like it'd make for a good story to tell. Was that what he wanted?
I can't see it.
No, there was no strategy here. It wasn't brave. It was just a kid who realized too late that he needed more than a gun to come out on top in this place, and couldn't think of anything better to say to a person who had more than a few reasons to kill him.
What a hollow person.
Looking into his eyes, Ty saw nothing. No glint of a spirit. No malice. A fake person who rotated in and out of personas as a situation demanded.
Nothing worth sparing.
Ty let go of Gervais' collar at the same time he delivered a straight punch to the temple, sending him sprawling back to the ground. Confident he wasn't getting back up, Ty started to rummage through the other boy's supplies, finding a shirt that he used to wipe the bloody spit from his face.
Still alive.
Whatever happened until now, Gervais was still alive.
He turned his head. Waves of pain crashed through it. He saw Ty getting down on his bag. Not looking back at Gervais.
That was his chance. All he had to do was to get up silently. Get his rifle. Sneak up on Ty. Bash his head in. Shoot him when he was down. Survive.
All he had to do was to get up.
There was light before his eyes, and then only darkness.
Whatever happened until now, Gervais was still alive.
He turned his head. Waves of pain crashed through it. He saw Ty getting down on his bag. Not looking back at Gervais.
That was his chance. All he had to do was to get up silently. Get his rifle. Sneak up on Ty. Bash his head in. Shoot him when he was down. Survive.
All he had to do was to get up.
There was light before his eyes, and then only darkness.
Inside Gervais' bag Ty found a bandolier full of huge cartridges for the rifle, and an additional box of reserve ammunition. Ty quickly set about moving it into his own, all the while checking on Gervais out of the corner of his eye. Fortunately, he didn't move much at all.
The gun was familiar to him, strangely enough. Martini-Henry. Reading the text evoked memories of walking in on his father watching Zulu, an old war film. Bill missed the point of it entirely, of course. The film was a fairly accurate and fair portrayal of the Battle of Rourke's Drift, with a sprinkling of anti-war sentiment thrown in. Notable for being a movie that in the mid-sixties was portraying the Zulu warriors and British soldiers on an equal footing, both as human beings and as combatants.
Ty's father seemed to be most entertained by the scene where the British troops cut through the Zulu vanguard with volley fire. Of course.
"Front rank - FIRE! Rear rank - FIRE! Advance!"
The power of civilization, he said. Thought the Zulus really didn't stand a chance.
The British were using Martini-Henry rifles, he said. Guns that could punch a hole the size of a fist in a person. Made a stupid comment about the Mexican border, after that. Didn't tell him that I'd read about the battle and how the Zulus did have guns, and it was an absolute miracle the British weren't overrun. Knew enough not to disagree back then.
It certainly looked fearsome. Ty supposed he was lucky Gervais wasn't a better shot. There were enough empty spaces in the bandolier to wonder if everyone else had been so lucky. No one was going to have to worry about that from Gervais anymore, at least.
Not when I'm done here.
Ty set the rifle on his duffel bag, pulling out the still-loaded handgun he'd taken from Felix, as well as a single magazine which he placed in his pocket. The number on the bottom of the magazine read 15; that meant thirty rounds before he had to fetch more ammunition from his bag.
Twenty-nine, counting the bullet I owe him.
He flipped off the safety lever, which he'd made a point of finding so that another accident didn't happen.
The gun felt heavy in his hands, more than it had before. Because of the exertion he'd been putting himself through, no doubt. Ty stepped away from his bag, and stood over Gervais. Still wasn't moving, though Ty could still see his chest rise and fall gently with each labored breath. As disheveled as Gervais had looked before, Ty had hurt him so badly it was almost difficult to recognize him as a person anymore. Just a body; bloody, cut up, and broken.
Resembling little more than an appetizing chunk of meat to the predator that stood over him.
Wait, what?
Just another person who'd get in the way. If Ty didn't kill him, he knew there was a chance Gervais could still harm others.
No, no he's broken. Done.
Ty didn't see a defenseless, scared kid. All he saw was a potential threat. Another person who'd force him into an impossible situation, one where he'd have to make a difficult choice. The kind of choice that would make everyone see him for the monster they thought he was.
I don't have to do anything. I beat him. It's over.
Since he was so badly beaten, it only made sense to spare him the cruelty of continuing to live in this place. It was probably more than he deserved.
I don't have any idea why he did what he did. I'd have tried to shoot at me if I was in his position.
It was the kind thing to do. Merciful, even.
I can just walk away. I don't need any more reasons for people to think I'm a monster.
What would Erika say? She'd never want anyone to live in pain. She probably had a good argument for why he had to do this.
Death frightens her. She'd tell me to spare him, wouldn't she? I don't have to do this. He's probably not going to make it anyways.
All the more reason to shoot him, Ty reasoned. No unnecessary suffering. Wasn't that what Parker and Ty had agreed on? It was important to have principles, to keep to one's word. Ty knew he couldn't let this go.
That's not true.
Ty stood over the other boy, ready to end his unnecessary suffering with a shot to the head, just like he'd done with Felix. Gervais deserved to die for what he'd done, and Ty was just going to do what everyone else was too weak to do. Ty knew he was going to be the one to do it because he wasn't a good person anymore, as Felix and Chris had forced him into doing horrible things just like Gervais did. Just like the rest of them would. He stared coldly at Gervais' face across the sights of the pistol, confident what he was doing was necessary.
After only a brief moments' hesitation, he fired twice and ended the other boy's journey on the island.
No gunshots echoed through the village. He just couldn't do it.
The gun had felt heavy in his hands, more than it had before. Though he knew he had to hold onto it, he desperately wanted to it throw away. Ty found himself standing over Gervais before he really understood why. He still wasn't moving, and while Ty thought he could see his chest rising and falling, he checked his pulse anyways. It was steady.
He'd hurt so badly, he could barely recognize himself. Somewhere he'd just gotten carried away. It scared him that he was the kind of person who could get carried away hurting someone; and was actively frightening to think that might've been why he had the gun in the first place, or why he kept thinking he could still faintly taste blood.
Maybe acting so decisively felt like the right thing to do. Regaining control, somehow. Except all it had done was force him into one conflict after another. With each passing moment, the justifications he'd given himself seemed increasingly hollow.
There was one real choice he knew he could make. Ty flipped the safety on the gun back on, and stepped away. Immediately an arresting mix of panic and uncertainty washed over him, and he put his free hand to his chest in an attempt to calm himself. His heart felt like it was twisting into knots, beating hard enough he felt like he could hear it.
Ty turned away, picking up the Martini-Henry and slinging it across his shoulders, followed by his duffel bag. He felt something odd jostle in his right pocket as he placed the pistol back into his waistband. It was the twisted chunk of lead that had once been a bullet, the one Gervais had tried to kill him with.
He forced his eyelids shut and took measured, steady breaths as if it would somehow enable him to not see himself anymore. All it did was remind him he had tears in his eyes. The sharp edges of the bullet began to cut the skin of his palm as he clenched his fist.
One foot in front of the other. Come on. I have to find her. Move. This can't be all for nothing.
Dropping the bullet next to Gervais, Ty set off into a run towards the north end of the island. Before long, he had disappeared past the treeline into the dense forest.
((Tyrell Lahti continued in Heimweh))
The gun was familiar to him, strangely enough. Martini-Henry. Reading the text evoked memories of walking in on his father watching Zulu, an old war film. Bill missed the point of it entirely, of course. The film was a fairly accurate and fair portrayal of the Battle of Rourke's Drift, with a sprinkling of anti-war sentiment thrown in. Notable for being a movie that in the mid-sixties was portraying the Zulu warriors and British soldiers on an equal footing, both as human beings and as combatants.
Ty's father seemed to be most entertained by the scene where the British troops cut through the Zulu vanguard with volley fire. Of course.
"Front rank - FIRE! Rear rank - FIRE! Advance!"
The power of civilization, he said. Thought the Zulus really didn't stand a chance.
The British were using Martini-Henry rifles, he said. Guns that could punch a hole the size of a fist in a person. Made a stupid comment about the Mexican border, after that. Didn't tell him that I'd read about the battle and how the Zulus did have guns, and it was an absolute miracle the British weren't overrun. Knew enough not to disagree back then.
It certainly looked fearsome. Ty supposed he was lucky Gervais wasn't a better shot. There were enough empty spaces in the bandolier to wonder if everyone else had been so lucky. No one was going to have to worry about that from Gervais anymore, at least.
Not when I'm done here.
Ty set the rifle on his duffel bag, pulling out the still-loaded handgun he'd taken from Felix, as well as a single magazine which he placed in his pocket. The number on the bottom of the magazine read 15; that meant thirty rounds before he had to fetch more ammunition from his bag.
Twenty-nine, counting the bullet I owe him.
He flipped off the safety lever, which he'd made a point of finding so that another accident didn't happen.
The gun felt heavy in his hands, more than it had before. Because of the exertion he'd been putting himself through, no doubt. Ty stepped away from his bag, and stood over Gervais. Still wasn't moving, though Ty could still see his chest rise and fall gently with each labored breath. As disheveled as Gervais had looked before, Ty had hurt him so badly it was almost difficult to recognize him as a person anymore. Just a body; bloody, cut up, and broken.
Resembling little more than an appetizing chunk of meat to the predator that stood over him.
Wait, what?
Just another person who'd get in the way. If Ty didn't kill him, he knew there was a chance Gervais could still harm others.
No, no he's broken. Done.
Ty didn't see a defenseless, scared kid. All he saw was a potential threat. Another person who'd force him into an impossible situation, one where he'd have to make a difficult choice. The kind of choice that would make everyone see him for the monster they thought he was.
I don't have to do anything. I beat him. It's over.
Since he was so badly beaten, it only made sense to spare him the cruelty of continuing to live in this place. It was probably more than he deserved.
I don't have any idea why he did what he did. I'd have tried to shoot at me if I was in his position.
It was the kind thing to do. Merciful, even.
I can just walk away. I don't need any more reasons for people to think I'm a monster.
What would Erika say? She'd never want anyone to live in pain. She probably had a good argument for why he had to do this.
Death frightens her. She'd tell me to spare him, wouldn't she? I don't have to do this. He's probably not going to make it anyways.
All the more reason to shoot him, Ty reasoned. No unnecessary suffering. Wasn't that what Parker and Ty had agreed on? It was important to have principles, to keep to one's word. Ty knew he couldn't let this go.
That's not true.
Ty stood over the other boy, ready to end his unnecessary suffering with a shot to the head, just like he'd done with Felix. Gervais deserved to die for what he'd done, and Ty was just going to do what everyone else was too weak to do. Ty knew he was going to be the one to do it because he wasn't a good person anymore, as Felix and Chris had forced him into doing horrible things just like Gervais did. Just like the rest of them would. He stared coldly at Gervais' face across the sights of the pistol, confident what he was doing was necessary.
After only a brief moments' hesitation, he fired twice and ended the other boy's journey on the island.
...
No gunshots echoed through the village. He just couldn't do it.
The gun had felt heavy in his hands, more than it had before. Though he knew he had to hold onto it, he desperately wanted to it throw away. Ty found himself standing over Gervais before he really understood why. He still wasn't moving, and while Ty thought he could see his chest rising and falling, he checked his pulse anyways. It was steady.
He'd hurt so badly, he could barely recognize himself. Somewhere he'd just gotten carried away. It scared him that he was the kind of person who could get carried away hurting someone; and was actively frightening to think that might've been why he had the gun in the first place, or why he kept thinking he could still faintly taste blood.
Maybe acting so decisively felt like the right thing to do. Regaining control, somehow. Except all it had done was force him into one conflict after another. With each passing moment, the justifications he'd given himself seemed increasingly hollow.
There was one real choice he knew he could make. Ty flipped the safety on the gun back on, and stepped away. Immediately an arresting mix of panic and uncertainty washed over him, and he put his free hand to his chest in an attempt to calm himself. His heart felt like it was twisting into knots, beating hard enough he felt like he could hear it.
Ty turned away, picking up the Martini-Henry and slinging it across his shoulders, followed by his duffel bag. He felt something odd jostle in his right pocket as he placed the pistol back into his waistband. It was the twisted chunk of lead that had once been a bullet, the one Gervais had tried to kill him with.
He forced his eyelids shut and took measured, steady breaths as if it would somehow enable him to not see himself anymore. All it did was remind him he had tears in his eyes. The sharp edges of the bullet began to cut the skin of his palm as he clenched his fist.
One foot in front of the other. Come on. I have to find her. Move. This can't be all for nothing.
Dropping the bullet next to Gervais, Ty set off into a run towards the north end of the island. Before long, he had disappeared past the treeline into the dense forest.
((Tyrell Lahti continued in Heimweh))
...
And again.
He was, all along, still alive.
[[A Young Man's tale continued elsewhere...]]
And again.
He was, all along, still alive.
[[A Young Man's tale continued elsewhere...]]
Gervais Frans Lambotte Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern
||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|
Blue Jeans and Bloody Tears Martini-Henry Rifle MkIV Pattern||Selection|Clicks|Lonely|