Jack Merridew had turned into a bloodthirsty savage. That was no doubt. He only cared about hunting pigs and roasting them over the fire for his tribe to feed on. The murder of Simon and Piggy didn't seem to affect him, coining the coarse-haired boy as the beastie that he and his tribe finally killed off. They all danced in circles and chanted that phrase over and over again.
"Kill the beast! Cut his throat! Spill his blood!"
Roger offed Piggy with a heavy stone to the head, and the conch that seemed to make the rules official turned to shards and powder against the rock as the fat boy fell from the cliff and onto the sharp rocks below, into the sea. His body washed away just like Simon's had, leaving red streaks on the stones and oozing into the water around his corpse. Piggy's death left Ralph practically alone, even if he did have Samneric to some extent. Even if Samneric did change their minds about being on Jack's side, they would most likely be murdered in cold blood just like the pigs that the tribe hunted almost every day. Ralph had a feeling that he would follow right after them, his throat slit and left to bleed out mercilessly.
Samneric told Ralph he was going to be hunted the next day by the tribe, and Ralph didn't doubt that information one bit. And he began to mentally prepare himself for being killed. For being mauled and picked apart like a mere pig getting prepped for a feast. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if the boys turned to cannibalism and ate him instead.
Now all he had to do was wait crouched in the creepers and leaves until the sun rose, taking deep breath in attempt to calm himself; steady his shaking, dirty hands.
The sun rose as it did every day over the overgrown island, the soft hues of orange and pink illuminating the leaves that shone with morning dew; making the tropical flowers appear as though they were glowing. Butterflies flit around the flowers, periodically landing on a certain bud to feed on the sweet nectar before moving on to another. The singing of birds and early rising bugs echoed through the subtly swaying trees, making the atmosphere calm and beautiful, even though a tribe of young boys covered in blood and marked with war paint lay sleeping on the tufts of grass on the high cliff of rocks.
Samneric still were on watch at the cliff, sleeping huddled together for warmth against the cold rock digging into their back and sides. They would be punished if they were found sleeping on the job like this. They had mentioned to Ralph that they were hurt by Jack and forced to do something they didn't want to, but they never did specify out of fear and the urgent need for the fair-haired boy to leave before someone saw them talking to him.
The first boy to awake was Jack, and he shifted, groaning as his hands reached up to brush his bangs out of his face. He sat up, stretching as he let out a yawn, opening his eyes to the dim light of the dawn that overtook the island. As he thought, he still was still surrounded by sleeping boys of varying ages, some snoring softly and one whimpering in their sleep, most likely having a nightmare about something or another.
Jack wiped his hands on the scrap of fabric that hung off his hips, pulling himself to his feet. Looking down, he spotted Roger curled up next to him, eyebrows furrowed together in what looked like irritation as he breathed evenly and slowly, curled up in a fetal position with his knees pulled up to his chest. Even in such a childish state, he still had the scent of blood wafting off of him in waves.
With a kick to the side from his chief, he jolted awake.
"Uck!" He cried out, sitting up reflexively and clamping his hand on the side that Jack struck, glaring up at the redhead. "Really? There's so many other ways to do that…" He muttered to himself, earning a glare back from Jack as he slowly stood up and observed the sleeping tribe circling them. If someone were to glance over, they would think that they were all corpses drenched with blood and decaying rather than boys sleeping through sunrise.
"Go fetch the spears." Jack commanded the other male. "You remembered to sharpen one of them at both ends, right?" He narrowed his eyes, expecting a direct answer.
"Yes, chief." Roger smirked, nodding as he still rubbed at his side. With that, he stepped over the sleeping children and went to go find the bunches of newly sharpened spears specially for Ralph himself.
Jack stood there for a moment before he did anything to wake up the other children.
He cupped his hands around his mouth and let out an ear-piercing yell, turning so the sound reached all of the boys huddled up into clusters around the dirt and grass. Some jerked awake while others sluggishly awoke, groaning as they opened their eyes to the rising morning sun somewhat shaded by the open mouth of the forest.
"Everyone up!" Jack ordered, making an upwards motion with his hand. "We have an important hunt to get started with today!"
The boys seemed to perk up at the mention of the hunt and began to cheer, even those who weren't entirely awake yet. Just the thought of blood being spilled made them excited.
Roger had returned with the chief's spear sharpened to a perfect point, handing it to him with a lopsided smirk before continuing to distribute the weapons.
"As you know, Ralph is useless." He seemed to spit the words, his tone filled with poison. "What did his leadership do to benefit us?" He paused. "Nothing! Nothing at all!" The cheering started up again; the boys getting riled up, now wielding spears which they thrust into the air as they whooped like Indians.
"Always concerned with the smoke and the water and the ships passing by…" He muttered angrily, teeth clenched and eyebrows furrowed together. "Did he get us meat? No! Did he hunt for nourishment? No! Did he want you all to have fun? Hm?" He paused, whoops and yells echoing from the assembly of painted hunters. "Of course not!" His angry frown turned into a twisted smile, the clay cracking at his dimples at the expression.
Samneric had heard the shouts of encouragement and resentment from higher up at the guarding point and had made their way down the rocks to join in the assembly.
Jack continued to urge them on with bitter words and the mention of Ralph every now and then, encouraged by the echoing cheers and calls of the mixture of littluns and bigguns.
"After we're finished with Ralph, let's hunt down a pig." He mentioned, beginning to step forward and part the crowd. "Tonight, we'll feast once more!" All of the young boys raised their spears, following after their now sprinting chief.
Ralph had barely gotten a wink of sleep. He had nodded off now and then, but a crack of a branch or echoing sound coming from a nocturnal insect woke him once more, making him jump and tighten his grip on a large branch that he had groped for during the night. He needed a weapon to defend himself, and he would have ventured further into the forest to look for something sharper and more lethal, but he wouldn't risk it. He didn't know who or what could be prowling around in the creepers in the pitch black forest, and he would like to keep it that way. Since he didn't have the survival knife with him, the branch wasn't sharp at the end, but if swung with gusto, it would be of use. It was better than being unarmed entirely, Ralph thought.
When the tribe had awoken, Ralph had heard their cheers and bellows from further on the rocks. Heard their savage cries as Jack motivated them with promises of violence and the thrill of the hunt; a feast to celebrate the brutal murder of their previous chief after they were finished with him.
His muscles tensed and his grip tightened on his makeshift weapon when he heard footsteps and the breaking of sticks, crunching of leaves under bare feet as the hunters made their way through the forest slowly, keeping their voices low and ears open. Ralph tried his best to regulate his breathing and focus on staying quiet, tensing his muscles and kneeling amid the tall grass and thick bushes near the root of a tree. If he were to shift or breathe too loud, it would all be over. Before he would know it, a spear would be launched through his chest and a dagger would be at his throat ready to slice.
Minutes seemed to form into hours as he listened to the careful steps of the hunters drudge on, Jack periodically hushing the other boys when they spoke up or made a comment.
Their footsteps were almost out of earshot, almost swallowed up by the expanse of the thick forest—
Ralph bolted. He hadn't thought about what he just done, and pumped his legs as fast as he could as he ran in the almost opposite direction of the hunters. If he were to run back from where they came, he would be faced with Castle Rock and cornered in the hunters' camp. From there, it was either jump off the cliff and face the same fate that Piggy had, or it was to be tortured and murdered by the sadistic barbarians of Jack's group. Ralph didn't enjoy the idea of either outcome, so he kept on running aimlessly into the distance, hoping there was some way that the path he chose didn't lead up to a dangerous drop or a corner where he could be trapped in.
He just kept on running without thought. The hunters' footsteps and calls echoed and bounced off the clusters of trees and hit Ralph's ears like a boom of thunder; the crunching of leaves under their bare feet reaching closer and closer to the fair-haired boy's heels.
Suddenly, he felt the earth stutter next to his foot. It was instant and fleeting, as if he blinked and hallucinated the feeling. But it was no hallucination. Not this time. It was a spear that was thrown by one of the boys, aiming to hit Ralph right in the leg to render him helpless. Obviously, that plan had failed.
"Keep on running! Go, go!" Jack whistled, speaking at the top of his lungs so all of the hunters in earshot could hear him. "Surround him, corner him!" With those words, the boys' excitement increased. Ralph felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest, his breathing coming in short, hard puffs. Every time he exhaled, he felt as though someone was punching him in the stomach; his petite body only nourished by mainly fruit for god knows how long unable to handle the physical strain he was exerting at the moment.
Ralph began to stumble along, the muffled sound of a spear embedding into the earth surrounding him as he did his best to dodge the onslaught, one of the weapons grazing the side of his head and making him tense up for a moment and almost trip. Even so, he had caught his footing and continued to run without specific aim. At this point, he didn't care where he ended up on the island. He just didn't want to me caught and maimed by the animalistic tribe.
The footsteps now surrounded the fair-haired boy, his mind an addled mess of anxiety and fear, not yet ready to accept his bloody fate.
Suddenly, he had to stop his running mid-step and almost tumbled right into the rock ahead of him. It didn't look like a cliff, and he couldn't hear waves on the other side. Only more darkness swallowed the obstacle mixed with the mysterious sounds of insects and small rodents littered around the island. Still gripping the heavy branch in his hand, he began to climb jagged form of rocks the best he could with one free hand. One foot off the ground, two feet off the ground, lean occupied hand against the rock for leverage, grab next jagged layer of rock, and repeat.
Right before he could reach the top, he felt a rock hit him on the head and disorient him, making him fall on his back and drop his branch; gasping for air as his back arched and hand grasped at his chest and neck for precious air.
"Enough!" Jack commanded, raising one hand in the air for the other hunters to see. "Hold your weapons. Don't kill him just yet." The boys were confused by the request, their veins pumping with adrenaline had been ready to spear the boy's body and watch him sputter and bleed. Even though they were told to pause, they still tapped their foot, fidgeted with their long hair tied back in small ponytails, and stared in patience for the next command.
Jack stepped forward, still holding his weapon, closing in on the still gasping and shocked Ralph. At the sight of the new chief towering over him, Ralph scrambled to sit up and back away, his head spinning and mouth dry as a desert as his back hit the rock and made him cry out, crumbling once again and drawing in on himself as if his arms would provide him a sufficient shield.
"Ralph." Jack growled, narrowing his eyes. It was just one simple word, just his name, and it made Ralph shiver in fear. The light brown eyes narrowed down at him were darker than he remembered, missing that human shine to the irises and replaced with something much, much more twisted. Ralph just stared back, too stunned to move a muscle or reach for his own weapon which lay out of reach and hidden in the tall grass that rested against his skin. His own eyes were wide, filled with fear and a hint of hatred that still burned deep down for the power-hungry boy hovering over him and seeming to be appraising him under his scrutinizing stare.
"Uh, chief?" One of the boys had spoken up.
"What?" Jack's gaze averted and he straightened his back, his shoulders squared off; the strong air of dominance radiating off of him.
"What are you going to do with Ralph?"
Jack thought for a moment, looking back over at Ralph who still sit against the rock staring up at him before he made a final decision.
"Tie him up." Jack ordered after a few moments. "Bring him back to the camp."
With a "Yes, chief," the boys went to work; grabbing at the thickest, sturdiest creepers to pull up and use as rope. They swarmed Ralph, grabbing at him with their blood-crusted hands as he struggled to get out of their grasp and push them out of the way. He couldn't register what he was saying, or if was even making words as he screamed at the painted, masked faces around him, spitting out what seemed like gibberish to his delusional mind.
They wretched his hands behind his back and tied his wrists together sloppily, thought tightly, with a handful of creepers. The weakened muscles in Ralph's arms worked to their extent to try and break free of his bonds, kicking his feet in an attempt to knock them back and take a run for it, even if he didn't have access to his hands at the time. He made contact with one boy's stomach, which made the boy cry out and fall back.
The boys did their best to subdue the frightened Ralph, a few of them holding him down by his shoulders while a few others got a grip on his ankles and held them together as they wrapped the creepers around them. They did the same with his knees so he didn't try to pull his legs apart and untangle himself from the creepers holding himself together.
Still screaming and squirming in the middle of the circle of savages, he was suddenly put to a stop when he felt a sharp pain to his head.
Ralph's whole world faded to black as he passed out, the murmur of, "Good night, Ralphie," in what seemed like Jack's voice reaching his ears before he was out cold.