A perfectly unremarkable evening.

[Ghost Of Ravenstar†]

((Gavin Hunter continued from Ultimately, We Just Want To Be Happy))

CRUNCH!

The door shuddered under the impact of Gavin's boot, the wood splintering around the hinges and handle. Gritting his teeth, Gavin drew back his foot and tried a second time to dislodge the old, warped timbers from their moorings.

CRUNCH!!

WHUMP!

This time, the door fell inwards, completely torn off its twisted and rusty hinges. Gavin stepped triumphantly over the threshold – only to look down a second later at the remains of the door and realise that the shattered locking mechanism hadn't actually been engaged. Opps.

Cursing to himself, Gavin dropped his cumbersome daypack in the hallway and hoisted the door back into place behind him. Of course the damn thing hadn't been locked, the terrorists would've needed to get in here and search the place. But he had been too tired and too distracted looking around for other students that he hadn't thought to try the door before going Hulk Hogan on the inoffensive timber.

After wedging the door back into place as best he could, Gavin turned to survey his new accommodations. The gated community had been pretty high-class back in the day, but time had ravaged the once-opulent dwellings until they were faded shells of their former glory. At least this building still had an intact roof and walls that didn't show signs of extensive moisture damage. In terms of real estate values, it was a dilapidated ruin. In terms of shelter and prospects for a good night's sleep, it was practically unrivalled.

With nobody else to disturb him, Gavin took his time exploring the building. Apart from the wear and tear, there was little to make this house stand out from any others he had ever been in. There were signs of hurried evacuation here and there, but for the most part everything was exactly as Gavin expected it to be. There were even still books on the shelves in the living room. Somebody here had once had a passion for romance novels – the kind with titles such as Unchaining Adonis or Dark Liaisons in Paris. In short, exactly the kind of books Gavin expected to find in a place like this.

Having ascertained that the house had no surprises in store for him, Gavin moved his things to the dining room and began putting together an evening meal. With his daypack weighed down with miscellaneous supplies there hadn't been much room for taking along extra food, but Gavin had managed to fit in two of the unlabeled tins from the grocery store. Now he searched the kitchen for something to open them with.

As he had expected, the kitchen knives had been removed, but there was still a tin opener in the utensil drawer that the terrorists had apparently deemed harmless enough to leave where it was. Armed with this and two soup bowls, Gavin returned to the dining room and sat down at the head of the large six-person table to begin an evening meal of what turned out to be cold pork & beans followed by pineapple chunks.

All in all, it could have been far worse.

While he ate in silence and watched the shadows deepening outside the window, Gavin reflected on the events of the day. SoTF, like war and marriage, could be characterised by long periods of boredom interspersed by very short periods of utter chaos. There just wasn't a lot to do if you weren't in a group or interacting with other students, and the island was big enough that it was possible to walk for hours without seeing anybody else.

In a way Gavin was glad for that. He didn't want to have to deal with any other students except Megan Emerson. He didn't need their suffering added to his own, and he didn't need the emotional fragility that came with forming bonds at a time like this. Morality and ethics dictated that he should help whoever he came across to the best of his ability, but practicality also dictated that he remember his own weaknesses while doing so. Gavin Hunter would not lose control.

It was nearly dark by the time Gavin finished eating. He left the empty plates on the table and went up to the second-floor bathroom, whose single glazed window faced the setting sun. In the last fading light of evening Gavin used a bar of soap and half a bottle of cold water to attack the sweat and grime from the day's exertions until he felt at least passably clean.

Having cleansed himself as best he could under the circumstances, Gavin hauled his gear up the stairs to the master bedroom. He was physically exhausted after the exertion of carrying his heavy daypack over several miles of uneven, pothole-infested roadways. Thus he only bothered to remove his Trenchcoat before sinking onto the bed and wrapping himself in the old, musty sheets.

Gavin slept fitfully, twitching occasionally as a series dreams bordering on nightmares plagued his subconscious. In one, a squad of Kimberly clones in fedoras and terrorist uniforms hunted him through an endless forest filled with the dancing shadows of a figure that had more than a hundred limbs. In another the forest was empty except for the voice of Megan Emerson, who constantly seemed to get further away despite all his efforts to reach her.

It was a troubled sleep, to say the least. Yet Gavin didn't awaken until long past dawn, when the sun finally rose high enough in the sky to cast a beam of light through the faded white curtains onto his face. Even with the light, Gavin found it hard to get up. It was only the twin goals of finding Megan and meeting up with Karen that finally drove him to abandon the sheets and roll, groaning, out of bed.

Gavin was brushing his teeth in front of the bathroom mirror when the announcements began. He recognised Tracen Danya's voice, and amused himself thinking that maybe he could detect a hint of artifice in the terrorist's outwardly confident tones. You haven't filled your daddy's shoes yet, you snivelling little worm.

The announcements themselves brought little surprise with them. None of the dead were people he knew directly, nor were any of the named killers. Both Theodore and Hansel had reputations enough that he'd heard of them, and of the two Gavin estimated Hansel to be the greater threat. He knew what to do should he run into either of them. It was surprising how quickly you began to think of students as priority targets when on the island.

After the announcements had concluded, Gavin swilled his mouth out with clean water and then spat it down the drain. He could tolerate a furry chin, but furry teeth were simply too much to endure. A quick check in the mirror told him that he desperately needed a shave, but lacking a razorblade there was nothing he could do about that.

His morning ablutions concluded, Gavin retrieved his Trenchcoat, fedora and daypack from the bedroom and made his way downstairs. Breakfast was a ration bar washed down with a generous swig of whiskey. The alcohol burned pleasantly on its way down, and while it was tempting to drink more, he knew it was a stupid thing to do. Gavin would have rather taken on twenty military snipers single-handedly with nothing but a .22 pistol than run the risk of encountering Megan while drunk out of his mind. It just didn't bear thinking about.

So instead Gavin screwed the cap back onto the whiskey bottle and stuffed it back into his daypack, hoisting the cumbersome bag on his shoulders once more as he exited the building via the front door, which had blown down again during the night. He saw no reason to linger in the gated community, it had nothing to offer him that he didn't already have. Thus, Gavin strode purposefully towards the southern end of town. There was still plenty of time in the day to search for more supplies (and Megan) before his scheduled rendezvous at the beach.

((The legendary tale of Gavin Hunter continues elsewhere...))