A/N: Quick christmas update, will proof read later, merry holidays!
The next day, they think I actually ate the bread, they think it's hilarious.
"Right!" junky laughs, "Yo-you like r-r-rotten shit!"
I don't have the energy to tell him to fuck off. My leg still smells like a corpse, only now it's got green bits mixed in and I feel like I've got a flu coming, but it seems to me like the swelling has receded a bit, and I can actually feel my fingers now.
Blondie finds the dead rat and shows it to the others with puzzlement , "Hey, you guys seen a cat around here?"
Cat meat is better that rat meat, I know, I've tried both now.
Big guy shakes his head, sitting by the fire to throw some logs in it, "Nah, there was a mutt, but it ran off."
Blondie joins him, throwing the carcass into the rejuvenated flames. They eat breakfast in the shack and I listen to every word.
"What the fuck are we going to do with COG-boy?" Goes the dark skinned man, his mouth obviously half-full, "You said he'd be dead already!"
Big guy takes a while to answer, probably because he has manners and won't speak with his mouth full. "Fucker should have stayed off our turf, who cares if he dies?"
That wasn't the other dude's question, but I'm starting to notice my captors aren't quite the brightest minds Sera has to offer.
I'm older than all of them by at least five years, and I'm not that old, maybe thirty-two, thirty-four top, these guys were in their early teens during E-day, Blondie and Junky were probably barely old enough to walk, whereas I was starting the long and paperwork-intensive process of joining the army.
"D-d-do you t-think he… he has friends l-l-looking for him?" Speaking of the drug addled wolf…
Blondie scoffs at the thought, "So what? You scared of a couple soldier boys?"
"I a-a-ain't s-s-s-scared!" The other gets off his chair, ready to prove his point with his fists, but Big guy calms the game with one growl.
"Shut up, both of you!"
He's the one in charge, that's obvious, but his authority isn't absolute, as the junky, once he returns to his place, stutters "I ain't af-f-fraid of no soldier b-boy!"
The cuts on my arm were only skin deep, so the infection was nowhere near as severe as the one in my leg. Was, it's gone now, I know it is because the cuff on that wrist used to bite into my wrist, but it's kind of loose now.
Blondie scoffs, "Just 'cause this one's a pussy don't mean they all are…"
Perhaps I could break free, but I'm fucked up beyond any hope of taking all four of them head on, so I wait. The junky, eager to prove he's not afraid of Gears, walks up to me and casually stomps my stomach before punching me in the face a couple times. It doesn't do much damage, he hits like a girl and I'd notify him of that fact in any other circumstances, only right now I want them to pay as little attention to me as possible.
"Pfft," goes the big guy, looking away, bored, "taking it like an obedient bitch…"
Junky gets off me and back to the fire. He hurt his hand, just a bruise, but acts as though it's broken. This opens my eyes on something else; they don't know pain. I thought they did, but they inflict suffering upon others without truly understanding their actions because they've never experienced it themselves… They're children, not monsters.
There is a monster here, it's not a Locust, not a Lambent; it's far worse, and the chains holding it just got shaken loose. I'll let them think they've broken me, let them lower their guard, then I'll show them the monster.
Big guy gets back inside while Blondie and the dark skinned asshole head for the eastern beach. Junky stays by the fire, inhaling hydrocarbons every ten seconds.
Odds aren't in my favour, I'm not stupid enough to think otherwise, but I have Commando training, which means, or, well, implies aptitude with a blade and survival going beyond that of most grunts. Bottom line: I must take this fight to the woods, force them to hunt me down, only then can I take the upper hand.
First, I will need mobility. Ain't no frolicking around in the woods with my busted leg, not unless I get some kind of clutch. Second, I need camouflage, but the black tank top and armour pants are the only clothes available.
The answer to both issues is slowly suffocating a few paces ahead. Those assholes can't do anything right, not even maintain a camp fire. They threw wet logs in without anything dry to burn in the meantime. That might work, if you shape the fire in such a way as to focus as much heat on the new logs as possible, dry them up before the old wood runs out, but these guys just threw it all randomly. It'll burn for a few more hours, until just after night time, if I'm lucky… All I need to do now is wait and save my strength.
With that thought, a conscious and deliberate effort, I put the useless parts of my mind to sleep. Dolphins can do that on a literal level, shut off sections of their mind so they are never fully asleep. Humans can't do that, not on the biological level, but we have such things as meditation and hypnosis. I have not the slightest clue which of those it is I'm doing, but I am neither awake nor asleep.
Time feels trivial, but it flows and I am aware that it does. Sleepers have no concept of time. Though my eyes are closed, I feel the sun moving through the canopy, feel every tree trunk and branch as it casts a shadow on my bloodied carcass. By the time Junky gets bored of his gasoline can, I've mentally mapped all of the eastern and southern treeline. There are two breaches in the foliage, about five minutes-wide, to the south, in addition to the main path, on the east, which is one hour wide.
Not sure how far off they are, though, and that might be an issue if I need to run in complete darkness. I'm a monster, not a math whiz.
Judging from the smell, Junky gets close to me before changing his mind and vanishing north. His footsteps echo through the trees for half a minute before becoming muffles by the waves.
When Blondie and his boyfriend left, I heard their steps for about twice as long. Might be that the water is closer on the northern edge than it is on the east… Both my escape routes are down south, but going north would ensure I reach the water sooner. East is off the table, but I'll throw a few logs that way before running away, burning logs if possible. It should buy me a few precious seconds, get them to search the wrong way.
Big guy stays in the shack all day, soon joined by Junky. Who knows what they're up to in there? The other two never show up, even after the sun's warm rays are gone, I still can't catch the slightest whiff of their particular odors, nor do I hear the sound of their steps anywhere on the island at any moment. Once the fire's warmth is gone as well, it becomes clear they're gone for the night.
Part of me thinks I should delay my escape until I know where all of them are, but that part is just scared we'll run into each other somewhere in the woods. Not a chance in hell.
My wrist slides free without any struggle, which might just be the first time in a long while the universe doesn't shit all over me. Keeping only one eye open, I push myself up, grab the discarded sock and boot and... Well, One leg is numb, the other is rotting, so walk doesn't quite describe the shoving, shuffling and crawling I perform to reach the dying fire.
First thing I notice is the gasoline can. Half empty, which makes about two liters of flammable liquid at my disposal. I tie this up to my belt using the sock, then untie it and pull the belt free to tie the sock again, this time into the Kevlar belt loop in my back.
My captors have some firewood stashed on the ground, logs as well as a leftover chair leg. A thin log and the leg on either side of my ankle and with my boot back on, I wrap the belt a few time around the whole mess and pause.
Now, I'm familiar with pain, and I know every peak of suffering makes the last one seem tame, that's because our brain tries to forget traumatic experiences, so I try to recall the worse pain I've ever felt and double that for a rough idea of how much the next act is going to suck. Honestly, I'll be happy if I manage not to pass out.
On that very positive note, I tug hard at the belt, squeezing the boot shut around my splintered ankle. The loose bits of bone grind back in place, piercing muscles as they do so, and it seems blood fails to reach my brain for a moment. Next thing I know, I'm slumped straight in the fire.
On the upside, the dick drawn on my tattoo is now gone. Downside is, so's most of the tattoo. All that's left now is the top of the tombstones.
I was not out for long, barely half a second, and I'm back up just as fast. I finish the makeshift clutch around my leg and, one eye still screwed shut, pick up a smoking log that has bits of my skin seared to it.
First, I rub it on my forearm, burning away a layer of skin and all the obscenities and insults they carved in my flesh, then I throw that log to the east as far as possible before heading south, through the closest gap in the treeline.
At first, my numb legs, the gas can and the impenetrable darkness make my flight seem a foolish attempt. My bones feel made of lead and muscles of jelly, but soon I reach the trees. There, I open my other eye, this one not blinded by looking straight into the fire, and can see the outlines of trees and ferns around myself. Soon after, as I lean under low branches and vault over even lower ones, my leg recovers some of its strength. The injured one hurts, but I can put some weight on it without the feeling getting worse. I can run.
Kinda…