Razor

An one shot by the Paragons. Inspired loosely by the Fifth Wave. Razor is a different Razor to the Razor in that book. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO HAVE READ FIFTH WAVE TO UNDERSTAND THIS!

One year ago, the others came. One year ago, my life was changed forever.

Not that I could do anything about it.

I'd left behind everything, and fled. Run without any sense of direction. I'd just wanted to get away. Without avail. There was no escape. Only the prolonging of the inevitable.

This was how I'd ended up here. Huddling around a small log fire that crackled with warmth with eight other survivors. We were all so different, yet we had no choice to cling to each other. It didn't matter that we were dead either way.

And even though no one voiced it, we all knew the truth: Humanity had given up.

We had given up.

You could see it in the dark circles forming under our eyes, or the faint lines etched into our dirt covered skin. Or perhaps it was the pained, empty look in people's eyes when they stared at you.

It didn't matter. We all knew it anyways.

There was Cody, the pale little girl with mousy brown hair and a voice that wailed every night. Michael, the old pastor who muttered prayers and words of forgiveness. Alice, the middle aged fortune teller whose chains and beads jingled as she walked, in a soft, sad rhythm. There was Dylan, the sandy haired boy with startling blue eyes, who sung us songs before we slept. Rue, who wasn't sure if they were a girl or a boy- two in one, they called themselves. Taylor, who had long red hair and freckles, but he laughed all the same when he waved around the stump where his foot had once been. Georgia, whose lovely green eyes and calming voice told stories along the fire. And me. Holly Blackwood, with dark silky hair and dark eyes, who watched the others.

And there was Razor.

She was the one who sat in the shadows, far away from the fire, her face and expressionless mask as she watched us wearily, cleaning her rifle with the same dirty cloth. A gun is a man's best friend, she told me once.

That was the only time she talked to me.

Occasionally Georgia would go to her, and they would converse in hushed whispers. But other than that, there was nothing. No gesture of appreciation, no laugh, no smile. Razor never smiled.

Yet I could always feel her piercing grey eyes staring at me, watching me silently.

I ignored it.

That's when we started seeing the footprints. Razor found them, human footprints. In the area we were located. The others dismissed the idea. Probably other humans.

Razor warned us. "Have you forgotten the silencers? This might be one."

The others ignored her. Razor went back to cleaning her rifle, watching darkly us from under the gaunt limbs of the tree.

That night, when the others were sleeping, I went to her. Razor was on guard. She always was.

I never saw her sleep.

Sitting down next to her, I avoided her gaze. Picking up the courage, I talked. "I believe you. I trust you. We shouldn't stay here."

Razor nodded absentmindedly, her eyes staring far into the distance. "We shouldn't." she agreed.

"The others think we should stay. Nice place, provisions and food available near us." I told her.

She simply said: "I know."

Walking back to the fire, I lay down, and cuddled into the thin, torn material of my blanket, when I heard her voice again. "Holly?"

I nodded.

Razor eyed me for a long time. "Trust no one."

The next day, when we awoke, Razor made her case clear. If we didn't go north, quickly, we wouldn't survive. We couldn't fight silencers.

The others disagreed. Michael the pastor said God would protect us. Alice said she saw it in her visions. Cody cried she didn't want to go. And Taylor told us he wanted peace and quiet. We could achieve it here, he said.

He wouldn't leave Cody behind anyways.

Georgia refused to vote.

And then, on the other side, were Dylan, Rue, and me.

Razor hadn't said a word. But we all knew what she thought.

It was a tie. We talked it out. Tomorrow, we decided that we would split up, and Michael, Alice, Cody, Taylor and Georgia would stay behind.

Dylan, Rue, me and Razor would go. Venture north.

That night, the last night all nine of us would huddle around the whispering fire together, I went to Razor again.

"What do you think?" I asked her.

Razor shrugged, grey eyes fixed onto the fire.

In a way, I felt bad. We were leaving behind the oldest and the youngest, alongside the weakest fighters. If anything happened… they would not survive.

"They'll be unable to defend themselves." I told Razor. "Michael is old, and his prayers useless. Alice is nothing but a trickster. Cody is weak and cannot even hold a gun. Taylor lost his hand and all he has left is a stump. And Georgia, for all her resolving and diplomatic skills, cannot make peace with the silencers."

Razor looked at me for a long moment. "I know." She said finally.

"But?" I fished for answers carefully.

Razor gave a long sigh. "It's for the best. They're weak. They wouldn't survive the march north. Better for them to stay here. They'd only slow us down."

I gasped. "You'd give their life for yours?"

Razor shook her head. "Not for mine."

The next day, we left. It was a goodbye. I let Michael bless us and mutter prayers, let Alice tell me my horoscope one last time, let Cody hug me, let Taylor tell me a joke, let Georgia praise me quietly.

Instinctively, I knew it would be the last time I saw them.

I didn't cry.

And then, we trekked north. Razor lead us, dragged us along. Through the bushes and woods to stay hidden, through the remains of buildings and towns, through burnt fields and desolated roads.

She'd been right when she'd said the others wouldn't have survived this.

We barely could.

Our feet hurt, ached in our boots, we were hungry, thirsty. We begged Razor to stop, to rest.

For nothing.

She hauled us along relentlessly, rifle slung over her back, short brown hair falling over her eyes, face set in a determined expression. Not once did she turn back to look at us.

At last, when the sun sunk into the horizon, and the sky blushed a lovely red, we stopped to rest. Dylan moved to make a fire, but Razor stopped him with an upheld hand.

"No fire."

Upon my questioning gaze, she elaborated slowly. "It'll show them exactly where we are."

Suddenly, my throat went dry. "They're tracking us."

Razor turned away from us. "The signs were clear."

I scrambled upwards, and looked back to the direction we came from. "But the others…"

Rue let out a strangled cry.

I spun back, and faced Razor. "You knew." I accused her, pointing my finger at her.

"Yes." Razor admitted. After a long silence, she put her head in her hands. "There was nothing I could do to stop it. They wouldn't follow me. And even if they did…"

In my head, I put together the things she'd said the night before.

"They would have slowed us down." I said, echoing her words. A tear ran from my eye. Sweet Georgia, little Cody, upright Michael, mystic Alice, the ever optimistic Taylor.

All dead.

Razor stood up, and walked towards me. "Believe me Holly. If there's one thing I can tell you, I will. I didn't do it for me."

My lip quivered. Silently, I turned away and huddled into Dylan and Rue for warmth.

Razor found herself a tree and watched.

When dawn arrived, and the orange sun was barely visible in the sky, Razor woke us up. Wordlessly, the new march began.

This time, we didn't say a word.

Similar landscapes as the day before whizzed past us, and we were tired and starved, yet there was silence. We were all still shocked about the sure loss of the others.

Sometimes, I caught Rue crying into her sleeve, weeping without words, not hiding her grief. She'd known Georgia well.

Dylan simply kept his stare fixed to the ground, full of melancholy. His shoulders were slumped, and it looked as if all hope had gone from him.

Alone Razor kept going forwards, back straight. I couldn't bring myself to look at her. Like Dylan, I looked at the ground.

I hadn't know the others for as long, yet it didn't make it any easier. Still no comfort from Razor.

I thought back to what would happen after us. If we did eventually find a safe place to stay. I had no family to meet there. My parents had died as a child.

But if any of this ever was over…

I tried to crush that foolish hope. I knew, deep inside my heart, that even if it stopped, life would never be the same again.

The silencers had won already. There was no point. Only the endless chase, and the endless escape.

Perhaps this was what my life would look like until the very end. Every day, passing by fields and forests, until I was too weak, and discarded by Razor like she'd discarded the others. Cody, Michael, Alice, Taylor, Georgia.

I recited their names in my head like a prayer. It hurt.

Despite this, I couldn't stop thinking about the words Razor had said time and time again. I didn't do this for me. I cried out silently. Who else had she done this for? Who else was left?

That night, when we stopped to rest and eat, Razor excused herself. She would scout the area, she told us, to see if there was anything of use. Like provisions.

Rue ignored it, and cried themselves to sleep. I could hear her sobs, quietened by her grey blanket. Dylan watched too, blue eyes mournful.

I moved to Dylan and sat down. He'd occupied Razor's usual stop, and had found himself a tree. Like Razor, he was cleaning his gun.

"Dylan. What do you know about Razor?" I asked.

"Nothing." He said, eyes not moving from his gun, in his usual soothing voice.

I gave him the look. "You must know something." I sighed. "Let's start of easy. What's her name."

He hesitated. "No one knows."

Laughing despite the morbid situation, I raised an eyebrow. "Not even Razor?"

Turning his head away, he leaned back more. "She forgot."

"How does one forget their own name?"

"Simple." Both Dylan and me jumped in surprise. Razor stood there, the full moon behind her, rifle slung across her back. "Let me tell you everything, Holly."

"I was born roughly sixteen years ago. I don't remember my childhood at all, nor my parents. I had a brother. His name was Pilot. At least, that's the name I've given him now. In my memories, to fill out the blank spots."

Razor sat down beside us.

"When all of this started, one year ago, we were separated from our parents in this chaos. We found a group of survivors, much like this one. My brother was the last thing I had. I clung onto him, followed him everywhere, listened to everything he said."

Razor's face twisted into a bitter grimace.

"If only I would have fought him. Perhaps he'd be alive now." She put her head in her hands.

"We had the same situation as you had with the others. Some wanted to stay in a place, some wanted to go. My brother decided to stay." She shook her head sadly.

"If only I would have convinced him to go."

She gazed up at us. "But we stayed. And when the silencers came, he sacrificed himself. He told me to run, to go. In his last moments he pressed his key into my hand. The keys to our parents house. If I ever found them, he told me. So I ran."

We nodded, eager to hear her story.

"But then I found the others. Michael and Alice, Cody and Taylor, Georgia and Dylan, Rue. You Holly, you came later. But they accepted me. And I started to forget. It began when Georgia asked about my mother, and the color of her eyes. I am ashamed to say I couldn't remember.

And then it went on. To my fathers eyes, and to my brothers. And then to their names. And then to mine.

Holly, you must understand. My brother, the last thing I clung to, was dead. Gone. My parents… the chances I'd ever see them again, that they were alive, were minimal. I was lost. Just a lost little girl.

And so it went on. Holly, I told you I didn't leave the others behind for me. I did it for you. Because what point is there for me? I have nothing here.

That's what I felt like back then. The loss of my name… I hated it at first, yet when the others christened me Razor, I felt like a burden had been lifted. To me, I had nothing left. Except a pair of keys. What good would that do me if I didn't even remember what my house looked like?

My name was the last part of my identity. Losing it meant I could start again. My name was part of the past, and there is no use looking to the past. I was no longer a girl chained by the loss of her family. I was Razor.

Yet even Razor went wrong. Razor made mistakes. And this new life as Razor was never mean to be. Being Razor never gave me satisfaction, but it was something I was compelled to do.

Because Razor meant I was no longer a little girl. Because Razor meant I could protect others, and help them survive. Even if I died.

Even if this ever ends, the world won't ever be the same again. And even in that world, Razor won't have a place. There is nothing left for me. A new beginning always means an end. And when the time comes, I'll go. I'll leave the world as Razor, as it was meant to be. I'll sacrifice myself like my brother did for others.

You must understand. I left behind the others, because I couldn't save them. I could save you though.

Holly, you remind me of myself. Rue, Dylan, have something left. Rue wants eternity to figure out who they truly are, whether girl, or boy, or both, and they wants to be happy as who they are.

Dylan has a sister, and he wants to find her. And he remembers her name, where she is. He will, eventually.

But you Holly, you were special. Like me. You have nothing, nothing to go back to. But you aren't me. You don't exist to protect others. You exist to survive. You have that light in your eyes that keeps you going, the will to live.

Don't ever give it up though.

I did, and I sacrificed everything for it.

I'm sorry."