1st AMERICAN BLITZ
DRAMATIS PERSONAE OPENING CURTAIN
Girls, No. 06
Karen Heiser
"Conversations, Couches & Confessions"
She looked over at Wendy Prince again. This would be the sixth time she tried to start a conversation with the girl. The first five all ended rather abruptly. It wasn't the easiest thing to strike up a conversation when the world had gone mad. But even if it hadn't, it would still be hard for her.
"Um…i-is that…" she paused for a second or two, gazing down at the rectangular device lying on the floor between them. The small, squared screen was dark. She'd inquired earlier about how Wendy had known she was out in the hall. All the girl did was point to it. "Is that the thing that let you…that let you know I was coming?"
The auburn-haired girl just continued to stare at the door on the other side of the small room. Legs drawn up to her chest, she had a thumb poised against her lips; those blue eyes lost in deep thought. "Yeah," she answered absently.
"O-oh," Karen said as she began to fiddle with her canteen strap. That was try number six. All the previous attempts at conversing with the girl had ended in pretty much the same way. At least she was managing to get some words out her now. A few tries ago, it'd only been gestures.
It'd been that way since Wendy had reluctantly let her into her hiding space. She almost seemed to be keeping Karen at arm's length; trying hard to keep from getting too close to her. It was giving her a bad feeling. Was the girl…was she…scared of her? Or was it something else; something much, much worse?
"Are…you okay?" Karen pushed again despite the growing unease she was feeling.
"Swell," Wendy returned in that same empty tone.
Karen gave a quiet sigh and looked over at the wall where a hatchet and a black bandolier full of gray, canister-like objects lay against it. The hatchet was hers; found in the weapon case after she'd managed to track it down with her GPS. The other, she assumed, was Wendy's. Seeing either of the objects didn't help her to feel any more comfortable. Neither was the other girl's apparent lack of desire to talk.
Was she hiding something?
Well, uncomfortable or not, she wasn't ashamed about going after her weapon. The crazy situation they were in warranted it. She had every right to defend herself. She had every right to fight to stay alive. She wanted to go home. She wanted to see her mom again. She wanted to live. Just like everyone else on the rig.
And she was not going to be ashamed of it!
Wendy had been quick to demand that she hand it over to her if she wanted to come in. Karen was strongly opposed to doing so, originally. Afterall, what did she really know about this Wendy Prince other than the fact that she was hiding away? Just because she was didn't mean the girl was trustworthy. For all she knew, this was how the girl could've been killing others – luring them in with an offer of sanctuary. In fact, the last thing Karen wanted to do was trust anyone on the oil platform.
This was something that also applied to those from her school.
She knew Brian…and Andy too, but didn't know them. Not that she wanted to. They were all on different rungs of the social ladder and it was an unspoken rule at Red Rock High that you didn't associate with those not at your level. She didn't live by that rule like some did but she didn't break it either.
It made it easier to deal with her...issues.
When Wendy had first opened that door and quietly called out to her, Karen wasn't too sure what to think. Her hair was disheveled; eyes red, clothes dirty and face a mix of panic, loss, uncertainty and anger. But she could see clearly that the girl had been crying. It was the first clue that she might be able to trust her. But even with the way she looked, Karen was hesitant. Trusting the girl might very well end up getting her killed. It was all just too…convenient.
Yet, she also knew that she didn't have much of a choice. Trust issues and paranoid fears aside, Wendy had offered sanctuary. A place to hide. A place to lay low and collect her thoughts on what her next move would be. Plus, she knew that there were much worse students running around the platform now. She didn't want to risk looking for someplace else to hide and running into one of them. Not with suspicion and insanity already descending on the platform. Temporary safety was better than no safety. And she had a good feeling that she could overpower the girl if she absolutely had to.
She could lie to herself as much as she wanted to, but Karen knew the truth. She needed to feel safe. She needed to feel like she was secure from all that could harm her. All it would cost her was the only protection she had from that insanity.
And so, she'd given up her weapon.
There was a brief moment of fear when Wendy took the hatchet from her and paused. The way she looked at it with a blank, nearly dead gaze had sent all kinds of warning signals blaring through her head. For a second, Karen thought she had made a mistake…her last mistake. She tensed the muscles in her arms in preparation to take back her weapon. But the girl just regarded her sadly and then motioned her in with a little more impatience than she'd expected; the look on her square face frightened and annoyed. In her mind, that was infinitely better than it being murderous. Decision made, she was quick to move through the doorway and enter the small storage room.
After she was inside, Wendy poked her head out and gazed both directions before ducking back in. Closing the door and then locking it, she turned away from her with a hesitant sigh and walked over to where the bandolier was. Karen noticed that she didn't give it so much as a glance.
She crouched down and set the hatchet down with more gentleness than Karen figured she would after how she'd looked at it. It wasn't until later that she realized Wendy had done so to keep from making too much noise. That made a great deal sense, considering the situation.
Once the quiet introductions were out of the way, the auburn-haired girl had directed her to the other side of the storage closet. She didn't object. The worst thing she could do was upset the girl. That could lead to her being put back out in the open where she'd have to deal with…
"How…how can y-you be so…so calm about this?" she asked abruptly, returning her thoughts to the present.
"Believe me, I'm not."
"Then h-how… Why aren't you talking? Why a-are you just sitting there staring at…at the door?"
Wendy didn't change her position or look up.
"Because I'm thinking," she responded after a second or two.
Karen tried not to frown at the girl. With everything happening around them, with their lives in eminent jeopardy; did she really have to be so rude? What reason did she have for being so brusque and despondent? It wasn't like she wanted Wendy to be her best friend or anything. All she wanted was for the girl to talk to her like she was actually there and not some afterthought. Was that too much to ask? Was it any wonder why she felt so uncomfortable around other people?
"F-fine," Karen grumbled. "Excuse me for trying to make conversation."
-O-
"So, how are we feeling today?"
"Fine, I guess."
"You…guess?"
"Yeah."
There was a mild sigh from the older woman behind the dark-lacquered, oak desk across the room. "Karen," the woman asked as she organized the small stack of papers atop a rather thick folder. "If you aren't feeling up to this meeting, I can always call your mother and reschedule the appointment for tomorrow. There's no need in either of us wasting the other's time."
"No…no, it's fine," she replied, trying to find a source of comfort on the patient's couch. "It… It was just a hard week at school. That's all."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No… I mean, it's nothing. Really."
Her therapist glanced at her with skeptical eyes.
"Are you sure?" she asked after a moment or two. "Nothing you want to get out in the open? Nothing you want to get off your chest?"
"Yeah," Karen answered in a vague tone. "I'm sure. Everything's fine."
"Well, if that's what you wish. I won't force you to talk about it. But eventually, you will have to. Remember that. Keeping it bottled up won't solve anything. And I can't help you if you close me out to what's bothering you. Understand?"
Karen nodded absently, answering, "Yes."
"Good," the chestnut haired woman said as she looked back down at the paperwork in front of her. "As long as you know that I'm here to help you. I'm not your enemy. Please remember that." Her therapist paused as she slid the paperwork from atop the manila folder and then returned her eyes to Karen. "Okay then," she began with a friendlier smile. "Do you think that you're ready to continue from where we left off?"
Karen shrugged her bare shoulders in a nonchalant motion. "Yeah. Sure."
Shivering slightly, she watched the woman behind the desk on the other side of the large office gaze back down, open up the thick manila folder and thumb through it for a few minutes before grabbing hold of a voice recorder just to the side of it. With a quiet sigh, she turned her eyes away from the woman and stared up at the ceiling. Tucking her hands under her armpits, Karen clutched her arms beneath her breasts and pulled them closer to her body.
Her therapist always kept the office ice cold. She had no idea why. It made her wish that she'd worn something a little warmer than the denim shorts, tanktop and flip-flops she had decided to put on for her hour-long therapy session.
But then again, considering how hot it was outside – a typical spring day in Arizona, she might've passed out from the heat if she wore anything warmer. There might not be any of that brutal humidity that places like Texas and Louisiana experienced, but it was still hotter than Hell outside. She sighed again as she crossed her ankles and squeezed her thighs closer. Maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad idea to at least bring a blanket or something.
She'd have to remember that for the next time.
There was a brief click and then Karen heard her therapist reciting a familiar series of lines that she'd heard so many times before. There were slight variations here and there such as time, date, what was discussed the last session and what was to be discussed this session. But it was almost always the same things that Dr. Hedgeway spoke into that small voice recorder.
"Today is Thursday, March 6, 2009. This is the sixteenth session with my patient, Karen Michelle Heiser. She has been in my care for three months now. While she shows small signs of noticeable improvement, she remains closed off in regards to the true source of her problems. She continues to exhibit anxiety which hampers her social interactions and her depressive episodes are still a cause for concern. Even so, I see no need to adjust the current dosage of her prescribed medication. I have determined, in the brief time that we have spent together, that she has developed a genuine suspicion and total distrust of the opposite sex despite maintaining associations and even friendships with those she considers close.
"I fear that this might be the result of a hurtful betrayal experienced at some earlier point in her life and has led to her experiencing minor bouts of paranoia. So far, she has kept them from dominating her opinions of others – at least those of her shared gender. But only time will tell how much these bouts will spread and whether or not she will allow it to damage the female relationships with those with those whom she considers close. And though I believe that this is what largely hampers her social activities at school and in the general public, I still feel that the past she keeps buried is the key to beginning the healing process.
"I have spoken with Karen's mother about the matter at length. Even though she has informed me that she believes the troubles began with the accident which paralyzed her; I feel that Karen's social anxieties, mistrust and inability to form lasting connections with boys her age run much deeper than that.
"As such, I have decided to continue the direction of therapy we began in our last session..."
Karen turned her head toward her therapist when she heard the woman's words pause. It was finally time for the woman to start digging around in her head again. Not that she was going to find anything that she didn't want her to find.
She knew that Dr. Hedgeway was only trying to help; that her mother had sent her to the woman only because she was worried about her. The problem was that Karen didn't want the help. She was perfectly fine with going through life avoiding boys in general. Afterall, they couldn't hurt you if you had nothing to do with them.
"Alright Karen," Dr. Hedgeway intoned as she leaned back in her chair and laced her fingers across her lap, "let's begin where we ended the last session."
She said nothing, only nodding her head; trying not to flinch at the creaking chair. God, she hated that sound. It, along with the cold, was making the session more annoying than it should've been. With all the money her therapist probably had, was it really too much to buy some damn WD-40 to get rid of that noise?
Shifting on the couch again, she thought back for a moment through her irritation. It'd been two weeks since their last session. How was she supposed to remember something that far back? Between her meds, school, home and spending every two weeks on that God-awful couch; when was she supposed to have the time to remember what they had last talked about? It was a wonder she wasn't in some freaking nuthouse now.
Besides, her doctor had recordings of all of their sessions. Why couldn't she just play back the one from two weeks ago and find out what she'd been saying? Would it really be that hard? Why make her remember it?
She wished she had the courage to tell her that.
"Ummm," she began. "I think… I think we were talking about some of kids at school."
The chair her psychiatrist was sitting in creaked again. Karen tried not to cringe. She really hated that sound.
"Yes, that's right," her therapist began. "But wasn't it one in particular? I believe you told me that you got into some kind of…altercation with him?"
Karen sighed. Something else she didn't want to think about, let alone talk about it. "Yeah."
"I see," Dr. Hedgeway replied. "So Karen, tell me a little more about this boy at school. I believe you said his name was…"
-O-
"...Brian Addison?"
From across the small space that separated them, Karen fingered her GPS absently while nodding her head. It had been nearly an hour since she'd managed to get the girl to talk. But in that time, Wendy had dropped a bombshell. She was formulating a plan of escape.
She still wasn't quite sure how to feel about it or what to think. On the one hand, it scared the hell out of her. That Omatsu woman had said that escape was completely impossible. Gunboats, the collars, the soldiers and a huge, cold ocean seemed to confirm that statement. Hearing the girl even mention the word 'escape' filled Karen with dread.
But then, did she really want to stay on the platform and try to survive until the end? Did she really want to kill other people just so she could see her family again? Was it such a bad thing to have a little…hope? Could she really afford not to?
"And you're sure we can't trust him?" the auburn-haired girl inquired.
"Yeah," she answered in a quiet tone, drawn back into the conversation she'd started. "He's from my school. I'm not too sure but…I heard he was bipolar or something like that. Everyone that I knew usually steered clear of him."
The girl – Wendy was who she'd introduced herself as – sighed grimly, pulling her skirted legs up to her chest while turning her head to stare at the locked door of the storage closet. It was the third time she'd taken up that position. "Well, that makes three if you count the two I ran across. So far, you're the only one that's actually listened to – and agreed with – me."
Karen watched with curious eyes as the older girl rubbed the back of one hand with the other. They were both trembling.
"I thought you said they were girls," she said after a moment, brushing at the stray strands of sandy blond hair that had fallen into her eyes. "The two you ran across, I mean."
"They were," Wendy replied, raising a hand to her mouth. "But that doesn't mean we can trust them." Biting down lightly on the end of her extended thumb, she spoke around it without facing her. "Especially after what happened," she continued. To Karen, the girl's voice sounded faraway, tired and sad; like she was already close to just giving up on everything. "One was so scared that she did this to my hands…"
The girl paused long enough to raise her other hand off of her knee and show the back of it to Karen. The skin was a fading shade of red and whelped with light to medium scratches. Nothing too deep, but more than noticeable. Pinpricks of dried blood dotted the scrapes from end to end. She looked but said nothing.
"…before running off after I let her go. I…I didn't even have a chance to tell her anything. Where she went, I don't know." Wendy lowered the hand down to her knee again. "The other I bumped into by accident. I tried to convince her that I had a rough idea for a plan of escape but she threw it back in my face. I…I got angry…and… And…we fought…"
The girl's words trailed off and Karen waited to hear more. But nothing else followed. She gazed at the auburn-haired girl for a long moment. There was no movement from her; she just sat there and stared at the door facing her. From what she could see, the expression on her face seemed to be regretful.
Her heartbeat quickened as a suspicious panic slowly began to gnaw at the edge of her mind again.
Was any of what the girl had just said true? One girl was scared and had run off, the other Wendy had fought. But what happened after that? Why had the girl stopped talking? Was she hiding something? Or was it just that she couldn't come up with a good enough lie to finish her 'story'?
Uncomfortable feelings from before returning, she pushed back against the wall without taking her eyes off of Wendy. The sweat on her back coupled with the thin fabric of the yellow t-shirt she was wearing allowed her to feel just how warm it really was in the storage closet. How much did she know about the girl – really know about her? Yeah, she had let her in to the storage closet but that didn't mean the girl was trustworthy. Or innocent of committing murder. It could've been her way of trapping people, like she'd thought originally. And what about the first girl she'd mentioned? Had she really let her go?
Or was the poor girl her first victim.
"Wha…what happened?" Karen asked after a hard swallow. She hadn't forgotten where she was. She also hadn't forgotten about the rules. How could she? She quickly cut her eyes to the rear of the small space she shared with Wendy.
It wasn't the first time she regretted giving up her weapon. It also wasn't the first time she'd question the girl's kindness. Just why had she opened the door and called out to her? She was already well past the door and a good ways down the hallway when she had. Wendy could've avoided her altogether and she would have been none the wiser. Especially with that tracking device thing she had. Was her so-called 'escape plan' the reason why?
She turned her head slowly to look in the direction of her weapon. Her hatchet lay against the far wall that was opposite the door. It sat next to the girl's heavy-duty bandolier full of gray canisters with tapered bottoms. She wasn't sure what they really were, but they reminded her alot of grenades. And if that's what they were, what chance did she stand against them with just a damned hatchet? The only thing she had going for her was that the girl couldn't use them against her in such an enclosed space without killing herself as well.
Or was she already so far gone that she didn't care about her own life anymore?
Her heart was beating faster and faster behind her ribcage with every thought that popped into her head. She cast her weary gaze back at Wendy. The girl was still staring at the door, eyes lost in thought. Her expression remained unchanged. In fact, it looked even more regretful. Why wasn't she saying anything? Why didn't she want to answer her question? Was it because she knew she'd been caught in a lie? The lone hand on her knee was clenching the fabric of the skirt.
Karen looked back over at her weapon. The hatchet was well out of her reach. The only protection she had against the possible insanity sitting a few feet from her was lying too far away to save her life. She should've never agreed to turn it over to Wendy for a chance at sanctuary. It was a mistake. One that could end up getting her killed. Nervously, she rubbed the palm of her hands against the coarse fabric of her denim shorts.
She returned her anxious eyes to the auburn-haired girl huddled against the wall.
"I…I hit…her," Wendy stammered abruptly, blue eyes still lost. Karen noticed the slight glistening of tears in the weak light of the closet. "With my…GPS… I… I attacked her. I… I… I gave in. To the…violence…to this…stupid game. I was so… I was…so scared…! So angry…at what she…said…! I… I just… I just didn't want to die!"
With that, Wendy lost her composure and dropped her face against her knees. Karen could hear the muffled sobs coming from the girl's mouth and watched as she clamped her arms around her legs. But could she really trust that any of it was legit with her life at stake? People could fake crying and being emotional. She'd done it herself once or twice. Besides, feeling any kind of remorse for the girl was the farthest thing from Karen's mind at the moment.
She just couldn't afford to take anymore chances.
Scrambling up from her place next to the wall, she rushed over to the hatchet with quick feet and grabbed up the weapon. The sharp, bladed metal head of it scraped loudly against the deck. Afterward, she kicked the bandolier of gray canisters over into the corner furthest from Wendy. They rebounded spongily off her blue and black slide sandals. Somewhere in the back of her head, she was surprised that she didn't stub her toes on one of those grenades.
They slid across the metal floor noisily. The girl in question looked up immediately and, when she saw what Karen had done, dropped her arms and backpedaled toward the door. The teary expression on her rectangular face was as questioning as it was terrified.
"Wh…What the fuck are you –"
"Shut up!" Karen screamed, holding the hatchet tightly with both hands and pointing the head of it at Wendy in a threatening manner. "Just…shut…the…fuck…up!" She emphasized each word with a shake of the hatchet. Her hands were trembling so hard that she could barely keep hold of the weapon. The sound of her heart beating pounded in her ears. She wouldn't be the next to die here. She wouldn't!
"Did…did you…" Karen's throat was a dry as sand. How long had it been since she'd had any water? God, it was dry! Regardless, she forced the question out. "D-Did you…" she croaked before pausing again to wet her throat with what little saliva was in her mouth. "…Did you…k-kill her?"
Wendy was frozen against the door, not moving an inch. Her horrified eyes were locked on the hatchet held in Karen's hands. She could almost smell the girl's fear.
"Answer me!" she yelled, forcing a startled jump from Wendy.
"I… I…"
With an aggravated growl, Karen took a step toward the cowering girl. In response, Wendy threw her arms out and let out a terrified squeal while attempting to retreat despite the fact that she was already pressed up against the door. Karen halted her advance and retightened her grip on the handle of the hatchet. She swallowed hard. All she wanted was an answer from the girl. Did she kill those other girls or didn't she? She had a right to know considering that this entire stupid game was killed or be killed. It wasn't just paranoia! She deserved to know if she had just placed her trust in a killer!
"I…I'm not gonna a-ask you again," she said in a brusque tone. "Did you…did you kill those two girls?"
Terror-stricken blue connected with fiery emerald green as Wendy and Karen's eyes met. The girl's lips quivered nervously, pulling inward for a second or two as she quickly licked her tongue over them. After a moment, Wendy opened her mouth and said in a panicky tone, "N-No… No I…didn't. I…I swear to you…all I did was…was hit her in the…head with my GPS. Sh-she was still…alive when I left her a-and the…the other r-ran…away… I-I…I didn't k-kill…either of th-them…"
Wendy's words trailing off into more tears and sobs, Karen stared down at the wavy-haired girl for another minute or two before lowering the hatchet and backing away. She didn't stop retreating until her shoulders bumped against the wall. Only then did she stop. "I… I'm… I just…" She paused to take a deep breath, sagging to her knees slowly as she did. "I just… I needed… I needed to know."
The hatchet's bladed head scraped against the metal deck as both of her arms came to rest between her thighs. The sound was a sudden and blatant reminder of what she had almost done – what she'd been threatening to do. Karen felt like she was going to throw up.
"I…I'm sorry," was all she managed to get out. Karen was scared that if she tried to say any more she really would vomit. Would she really have killed Wendy if she hadn't answered her? Would the ends have really justified the means? The answer in her head made her feel even sicker…and sadder. Despite how close to throwing up she felt, Karen forced out, "G-God…I… I… I'm so…"
That was as far as she got.
Overcome with emotion, she dropped the hatchet and fell down onto her rear. Reaching up to cover her eyes with trembling hands, Karen felt tears for the first time. They'd actually been a long time coming. She was too groggy and stunned to cry when she first woke up. She was too horrified to do it during the so-called 'orientation' which introduced her – and everyone else – to the rules of 'the Blitz'. She was too scared to waste time crying after being released from the briefing room.
In fact, there never seemed to be any time to just let it all out – her grief, her fear, her misery, her utter disgust at being 'chosen' to participate in the crazy death match. It all just sat there inside her, like a cold lump of metal. An uncomfortable feeling that could be ignored while her life was at risk. But now, there was no risk. And the feeling could no longer be ignored.
And so she cried.
After a few seconds, it all just became too much to bear. Everything that she'd held back since awakening to that dark room just poured out. She no longer had the strength to keep it back. Crumpling to her side, Karen pulled herself into a ball and let it all flood out.
Boys, No. 07
Andrew 'Andy' Higgins
and
Girls, No. 07
Madelyn 'Maddie' Higgins
"The Complications of Family"
Shakily looking up from where she sat on the deck, Maddie gazed in the direction of her brother with blank eyes. She was hazily aware of the large, circular opening three or so yards behind him that led into the hollow cylinder holding the rest of their belongings. They weren't in the same area of the storage bay as before. This area was more closed off and hotter, surrounded on all sides by row after row of massive tube pipes stacked four high. The dull yellowish glow from the light fixtures overhead made it all the more eerie.
After the incident with that black girl, she and Andy had been quick to move from their original hiding place. Though she still wasn't too sure it was a good idea to stay in a place where they'd nearly met their deaths; especially when that place was as large as this. But their choices at the moment were pretty limited. And why risk running into anymore people who were as intent to hurt them as that bitch they'd just scared away was?
Thinking about the confrontation – and the girl herself – made Maddie open her mouth.
"Why… Why didn't you shoot…her?" she asked him in a quiet voice; fiddling absently with the bag of chips in her hands. She'd scored about six or seven bags of them from a vending machine deep in the storage bay along with some candy bars. That wooden ax-handle of hers had been good for something other than cracking someone in the head. Yet, she was still very surprised by the fact that no one, other than that black girl, noticed all the noise she made getting into the vending machine. Maybe she was the only other person in the bay.
It was a very uncertain maybe.
In truth, though, the trip was an unnecessary risk. Afterall, they already had food – those MRE thingies that'd been in their weapon chests. However, she just couldn't bring herself to trust anything packaged like that to taste good; so she'd left to find something more…edible. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
What it turned out to be instead was the worst possible idea she could've come up with.
She took a risk and almost lost everything that mattered to her. All for some completely useless junk food! It was a stupid risk, one that had nearly got her and her brother killed. She couldn't take anymore chances like that. She had to be more careful. For his sake.
Yes, for his sake she – they – needed push aside any reservation about…doing what was necessary. It couldn't be any clearer than that! She had to make him believe and understand that.
"Didn't you… Didn't you see that she was…going to ki…kill us?" she pressed, brown eyes still lost. Her voice sounded eerily calm in her ears. That should've scared her, or at least unsettled her considering what had just happened to them. Yet it didn't. "W-We don't have…a choice, Andy. Th-This is… This i-is…real. We can't be…afraid. W-We have to… We have to be…ready. To do what it takes to—"
"Like I'm an expert with a gun, Maddie," he shot back, interrupting her while speaking around a mouthful of chocolate. Eyes refocusing, she frowned up at him and watched as the candy bar he was holding shook with his words. The gun he'd used to shoot at their would-be killer was back in the pipe with the rest of their belongings. She had tried to convince her brother to keep it with him at all times after what had happened, but he vehemently refused to do so. "And what do mean by 'do what it takes'? Are you even listening to yourself! Do you even get how crazy that sounds? Besides, she wasn't trying to kill you! She was trying to run away! The only reason I shot at her was to make sure she kept running! I wasn't gonna kill her, that's for sure. I'm not a fucking assassin, you know! And…and neither are you!"
Infuriated, Maddie dropped the chips and stood up from the deck. She stepped on the bag without care as she took her first few steps in his direction. The contents within crunched under her foot; the popping sound it made as it burst open echoing through the voluminous bay. If there was anyone else hiding anywhere nearby, they might have heard it. But that didn't matter to her. She didn't care. Not right now. She just kept on walking toward her brother with heavy steps.
Only one thing concerned her now…only one person.
"It…it doesn't matter!" she yelled as she closed the gap between them. "None of that matters anymore!" Maddie threw her arm back in a wild gesture to indicate the stacks of pipes, the large warehouse-like area they were hiding in and the oil platform that lay beyond it. Her eyes were wide and panicked now. All that earlier, icy calm evaporated by the fire of fear she felt for her brother. "Look around, Andy! Where the hell do you think we are? Huh? Does this look like Arizona or Colorado to you? Does this look like Paris to you?"
She stopped in front of him. He had a light smear of melted chocolate across his lips but the mixed feelings of fear, anger and indecisiveness quickly stole away the innocent memories she had of Andy from their childhood. If she couldn't protect him, memories would be all she had left of him. Why couldn't he understand that? Taking him tightly by the shoulders, she stared at him with intense eyes for a moment. Then she pulled him into a hard hug, much to his surprise.
"M-Maddie," he grunted, struggling against her embrace, "what the hell are you –"
"I… I can't lose you," she whispered into his ear, pulling him close. "I…it can't be like it was before. I can't let something like that ever happen to you again. I…I just can't. You…you're all I got…now. A-all I ever had."
She tightened her embrace, drawing him closer to her body.
"And…and I won't let anyone take you away from me."
Andy squirmed in her arms. But she didn't care. He was so warm, so alive. She wouldn't let anyone on the platform take that away from her. She was going to fight hard to keep her brother alive, even if he was unwilling to protect himself. He was all she had left in the world now, her fraternal twin. She loved him unconditionally and without question. She would do anything to protect him. And if that meant she had to kill…then so be it.
She proved that when she'd nearly split that black girl's head open with her axe handle. He was all that mattered. He was her world. Everything outside of Andy was nothing more than an afterthought.
"Maddie," Andy said with more force than before, "let me go! Y-you…you know I don't like it when you hold me like this! C'mon! I…I'm not kidding!"
Reluctantly, she eased her arms from around him. He pulled away with no hesitation, grumbling under his breath as he moved over to the large tube pipe stack that served as their new hide out. He gave her an uneasy look and then ducked into the pipe's large opening. Sighing, she followed quickly behind him; making her way over to the end of the pipe and crouching down before looking in. Why couldn't he understand her feelings? All she wanted to do was protect him…keep him safe from the craziness around them.
Keep him close to her.
Squatting in front of the tube pipe's opening, she brushed the long strands of brown in her face back behind an ear. He looked up quickly, the fear from what had happened just ten or so minutes before still evident in his jumpy movements and haggard expression. Yet when he saw it was only her, he scowled and grumbled, "I…I don't care what you say, Maddie. I… I'm not…" She watched as he swallowed hard. "…I won't… I won't do it! You hear me? I won't!"
Turning his eyes from her, she said nothing in return; only watching as he raised a hand to his face to quickly wipe at his eyes. He had made sure that his head was turned just enough so that she wouldn't notice. But she knew her brother too well; knew how kind-hearted he was.
Still trying to act tough, she thought sadly. Some things never change.
It was a nice gesture, putting on a brave face like that. It was part of the reason she had stayed on the ground as long as she did after that black girl had knocked her down. Andy coming to her rescue was as comforting as it was bittersweet; another chance for him to be her knight in shining armor. As wonderful as it was for her to see him like that, it stirred up too many feelings…too many memories.
They were memories that she preferred to keep buried and forgotten.
Andy playing the hero was unusual. Taking chances like that wasn't how he usually liked to be. He was normally quiet and reserved, preferring to think his way through problems or talk his way out of bad situations. He was never the type to act in a rash manner.
Unless it involved her.
And that was something that both aggravated and, oddly, filled her with a sense of pride. It gave her pride knowing that he cared that much about her and was willing to take such risks to keep her safe, even in his condition. However, for that very same reason, it pissed her off to see him taking such stupid chances. Like earlier with that girl. He may have shown a tough, fearless exterior while he was warding her off with the gun they'd found in his chest, but she knew the truth that lay beneath the lie.
Hesitating to take a quick look around the small clearing between the stacked pipe rows, she finally eased her way into the tube pipe. That earned her another hard glance from him. For moment, she found herself lost in his face. Even though they shared some similarities, Andy had much more of their mother in him than she did. Those kind eyes and soft curvatures; that lighter shade of shaggy hair and rounded face made it very easy to see that he had inherited their mother's delicate beauty. There were times that she wished she shared some of her mother's looks instead of picking up the rough and tumble traits unique to their father.
Was it any wonder why most kids at school pegged her as a tomboy?
Maddie settled into a spot about a foot or two away from Andy. He grunted something that she couldn't make out under his breath as he turned his head from her but remained where he was. She opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it; deciding instead to stare down at her greasy, dirty feet. She'd lost her flip-flops during the mad dash from the briefing room. She had wanted to go back for them, but Andy – still trying to play the hero even back then – just pulled her along behind him; screaming for her to just leave them.
That irked her; him pretending to be tough when she knew damn well that he wasn't. That was what really got under her skin. What right did have to do something like that, especially in his condition? Did he think that it had just gone away because they'd been pulled into some kind of crazy student death match? What was wrong with him?
With an inward groan, she shifted her thoughts back to her bare feet.
She wasn't really too bother about losing her flip-flops. It would be a huge pain later on, considering where they were. Luckily, most of the metal deck had been smooth with no jagged or rusted areas. But that wouldn't last. So she was sure leaving her flip-flops behind was going to come back and bite her in the ass sooner or later. But it wasn't something she could do anything about at the moment.
As much as she didn't want to because of how it made him feel toward her, she had to keep her attention on Andy. He was the real problem right now. And the condition that he seemed obsessed with ignoring.
She stole another look at him. He was still facing away from her, fiddling with another bag of the chips she'd liberated from the vending machine earlier. The hair closest to his scalp was damp against his forehead and the nape of his pale neck. The white tanktop he wore clung to his slender body wetly.
Exhaling wearily, she tugged back and forth on the collar of her t-shirt in an attempt to cool down.
It was so hot where they were now. Their original hiding spot lay right next to that huge bay door and the constant sea breeze that flowed through it had kept the area much cooler. The air there was also a lot easier to breathe, not carrying too much of the oppressive heaviness the moisture-laden rig's interior seemed to drown in.
Taking a deep breath here felt more like inhaling the steamy air from a sauna. The humidity this far into the storage bay was just as bad as the Quarters Module had been. It was stifling and uncomfortable, making her capris and t-shirt damp and heavy. She was sure it wasn't any easier for Andy. Something else she could blame on that black bitch.
In what little light there was in the pipe, she could see his ashen skin glistening with sweat. Though there weren't many, she could see a few reddened scrapes on his shoulder and upper arm. Her eyes lowered reluctantly to the large, ugly bruise about midway down. Despite the fact that it'd happened almost three hours ago, it still looked deep and new. She was quick to avert her gaze to stare back at her feet.
It hurt too much to look at it.
He'd gotten the nasty bruise after bumping into a wall while they fled what sounded like gunshots near the Quarters Module. Two, in fact. Loud, horrible sounds. Nothing like the popping noise made by Andy's gun or the one used by that Japanese soldier to shoot that one boy. No, those they had ran from were much, much worse.
Neither of them really noticed the contusion at first; their priority being to get as far from the gunshots as possible. Only when they grew tired of running and sought out their very first hiding place, did she see what had happened. When she spotted the bruise, her heart was quick to seize up with fear. The realization of what it could mean was like a punch in the face. But she had every reason to react the way she did.
Her brother was a hemophiliac.
Blinded by outright fear of the possible complications incurred by the injury, she'd been quick to make him remove his tanktop, despite his vocal protests that he was fine and nothing was wrong. But she pushed him to do it anyway, more forcefully than usual. The unusual situation they were in made it more than just a priority.
As soon as it was off, Maddie had done a thorough check of his body and arms for any other bruises. She also checked his wrist, elbow and shoulder joints for signs of swelling and discoloration which would indicate internal bleeding in those areas. That was what really had scared her. Because it was that kind of bleeding that could kill him without his Advate to keep his clotting levels high enough to prevent it.
Unfortunately, the Advate, and the needles needed to inject it, were still packed away in their carry-on bags. That meant until they managed to find some sort of medical station on the platform to find a suitable replacement or just happened upon wherever the Japanese soldiers had stashed their luggage, Andy was going to have to be exceedingly careful in everything he did. That meant she was going to have to keep him from taking anymore stupid risks.
Like playing hero when he knew he shouldn't be.
That was what led to her desire to keep him safe and protected. She couldn't be like everyone else. None of them had anyone really important to protect. Not like her. And for that reason alone, she couldn't afford to hesitate. If she did, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she would have to watch Andy die.
That was something she would never let happen.
She had made a promise a long time ago to always watch over and protect him. It was so long ago that even he didn't know about it. Just four years ago, she renewed that promise. To never let anything bad happen to him again. This time, though, she swore not to her parents or God but to herself.
A spark of a memory flashed and she shivered with guilt. Maddie shut it away. That day…that night, all she wanted to do was forget it. It was the reason that everything in her family had gone wrong. It was the reason Andy had almost –
"Don't you dare," her twin whispered all of a sudden.
She looked up quickly and found him staring at her with upset eyes. "Wha…" she stammered, trying to mask her feelings. "What are you talk –"
"You're blaming yourself again, Maddie," he replied, cutting her off. "You're blaming yourself for what happened to me. Stop it. How many times do I have to drill it into your thick skull that it was my decision? How many times before you finally understand?"
She hastily wiped at a tear – brought by the thought of that night – creeping down her cheek and went back to staring at her feet.
"You… You could tell me a thousand times," she responded miserably. "And it still wouldn't be enough." A memory pushed itself into her head as she said that. A dozen or more emotions that she didn't want to feel – that she had no right to feel – came with it. A familiar ache touched her heart. The images that the memory conjured grew until they felt like a noose tightening around her neck.
She closed her eyes against them, but that only made the images of that horrible day much more vivid. Without thinking, acting only on desperation and desire, she turned to Andy and crawled over to where he was. Tears heavy in her brown eyes, she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his abdomen. There she cried and fought against the memory that had ruined the life of her family; the memory that had nearly stole away the life of her brother. It was a memory that had ripped her away from the side of her twin and thrown her into the unfamiliar surroundings of Boulder, Colorado with her mother.
And it was a memory that she would never be free of.
OOO
Andy looked down at his sister as she continued to cry into his tanktop. Though he wanted to be, he couldn't force himself to get angry with her this time. He knew what she was feeling; knew what demons were haunting her mind. How could he not? They shared the same memory.
A hard, bitter and painful one.
Lowering a shaky hand to her head, he hesitated for a moment to consider what he was about to do and then began to stroke her hair tenderly. Maddie nuzzled closer to him when he did, shifting her weight ever-so-slightly until her shoulder was resting against his left thigh. Her arms tightened, remaining secured around him; unmoving save for the minor tremble here and there as she sobbed. He sighed, but continued to stroke her hair as gently as possible.
He'd always hated Maddie's touchy-feely nature. She always did have a bad habit of grabbing hold of him and hugging him close, usually at the worst possible times. 'My Anny' was the nickname she'd developed for him when they were both four years old. She still used it on occasion, mostly to embarrass him in front of his friends while they posted on each others' Facebook wall. But with siblings as close as they were, it was to be expected…especially with them living in two different states thousands of miles from each other.
And because they were that far from each other, he was cool with her habitual need to be the focus of her life. It was much easier that way; being the center of her attention on the other side of a computer monitor or cell phone. No touching, no hugging, no being uncomfortably close to one another; nothing that felt…odd.
He couldn't help but feel that even before the…incident had happened, Maddie was a little too close to him. Not in the sense that she peeked in on him while he was in the bathroom or anything like that. It was more like he was her personal property, her favorite toy that no one else could look at or touch. That might not have been so bad if Maddie kept it strictly in-house and just between them.
But she didn't.
Before their parent's divorce, she had a tendency to act jealous and grabby whenever anyone else showed up. Like another girl from school, for example. It never failed. She would run up to him in the middle of a conversation or when he and the visiting girl were studying or just hanging out, grab him up in a big hug and call him 'my Anny' while pulling him closer than was comfortable.
His sister didn't seem to know the meaning of 'personal space' as it pertained to him.
But, as bad as that was, there was unfortunately more. When they still lived together, there was always more. He remembered a day in particular when one of the girls he knew had come over while Maddie was out visiting a friend. She told him, pretty point blank, that she wasn't too happy with the way Maddie acted around her the last time she was there. She also told him that it made her feel uncomfortable to be around them when his sister hugged on him like that. It was that last part that pushed him to confront her about it.
He wished the confrontation had turned out better. Her accusations that he didn't love her or care about her had really hurt. The entire thing ended with her running upstairs to her room in tears and slamming the door. She wouldn't speak to him again for another three days.
He'd never understood why she was so attached to him. Why did she refuse to give him the space he needed? That may have been cute when they were kids, but having her do that to him when they were teenagers was just embarrassing. It was even worse when they in public together. And it wasn't just limited to his friends either. Even family wasn't safe from Maddie's possessiveness.
Andy couldn't bring himself to look forward to reunions or gatherings that involved his relatives anymore thanks to her.
He knew she cared about him. He knew she worried. But he really wished that Maddie would stop using his hemophilia as an excuse to violate his rights to privacy. The jealous guarding and babying of him, that constant need to be the center of his world was something that continued to grate on his nerves. And after everything that had happened, all it did when she pulled that crap now was make him very annoyed and very uncomfortable.
It all just needed to stop.
Glancing away from his quietly sobbing sister and trying to banish all those previous thoughts, he took a brief moment to gaze over at the small pile of items a foot or two away. When his eyes immediately found their weapons, he wished he hadn't bothered. Both the gun and the axe handle stuck out disturbingly against the two backpacks, bags of chips and candy bars. Seeing them brought back that terrible, recent memory of his sister fighting with that black girl and what he'd been forced to do.
His right hand was still trembling.
Though he had no intention of shooting her as she was running away, he wanted to make sure that she kept on running. Like Maddie, he was well aware of what they'd been trapped in. As unbelievable as that was. Also like his twin, he had every intention of doing what he could to keep her alive – keep them both alive. He was as fiercely protective of her as she was of him, despite the possessiveness she showed toward him. What he didn't share with her was her desire to commit murder in the name of keeping them safe.
He was sure that Maddie's obsessive 'overprotectiveness' and jealous feelings toward him pushed her to think that way. That scared him. That scared him a lot. The last thing he needed was for his twin to go 'axe-crazy' in a disillusioned effort to 'protect' him. Because he sure that it wouldn't end well for either of them if she did.
But what could he do? His hemophilia was giving her every reason to act like some kind of possessive psychopath. If he left things the way they were now without trying to stop it, he was going to become Maddie's sole reason for killing. That was something he couldn't let happen. He had to find some way to keep her…grounded; some way to keep her from flipping out, losing it and joining in the madness of their insane situation.
Andy pulled his eyes away from their pile of belongings with a quiet sigh and gazed back down at Maddie. She wasn't crying anymore. Her arms had loosened from around his waist and were now just hanging limply from his hips. He heard light, occasional snores coming from her as her body rose up and down at regular intervals. He smiled as he stroked her hair a final time before pulling his hand away. He was glad she'd fallen asleep. They could both use the peace.
He raised his arm and looked at the large, purplish-black bruise just above his elbow. An embarrassingly thorough examination by Maddie had revealed that there wasn't anything to worry about. This time. But what about the next? Accident or not, each and every bruise or deep cut he got while on the platform had about a fifty-fifty chance of putting him six feet under. All it took was one good injury without his Advate and that would pretty much be all she wrote for him.
The thought sent a sharp chill up his spine as he lowered his arm and draped it across Maddie's shoulders.
All through his life, ever since he'd been made aware of his condition, he never really worried over it half as much as his twin or parents did. Sure he was careful, never doing anything that he knew could mess him up too bad. But he didn't act like he was in some sort of protective, plastic bubble either. He wanted to enjoy his life. Every little bit of it, every single second. He didn't want to spend his time worrying over every stupid bruise, knick, cut or scrape.
He just wanted to be a normal teenager doing normal things.
Even after the incident involving himself and Maddie, he still felt that way about things; despite how close he had come to dying. But now, he wasn't so sure. It wasn't just the occasional cut or scrape he had to worry about here. It wasn't just a random bump or a bruise. No, now he had to worry about being shot or clubbed with a huge wrench or stabbed or any manner of other things that were too horrible to imagine. Death had always been something that lingered just at the edge of his mind before.
But not anymore. No Advate meant no way to enhance his clotting deficiency. And that meant his chances of surviving a 'game' where the only way home was to kill were very, very slim.
It was an unsettling and chilling realization for him.
After hearing those gunshots earlier while they were near the Quarters Module and then witnessing his sister fight for her life against that black girl; it was all he could do to keep those thoughts of dying just at the edge of his mind. Though he pretended otherwise, he actually understood why Maddie was acting the way she was. He got why she was willing to throw herself in harm's way to keep him safe. He knew why she decided to think the way she did, why she was willing to…to go that far.
Because she knew that in spite of the brave face he put on, he was afraid to die.
In truth, a small part of him was happy that Maddie thought that way; though it absolutely sickened him. The fact that she would willing to go as far as killing to keep him alive filled him with a kind of disgusting relief. He was reluctant to believe that any part of him could think that way. Yet, was it wrong of him to feel that way?
Should he really be ashamed?
It wasn't like he should be forced to just roll over and die because of his hemophilia. He had just as much a right to live as anyone else trapped on the platform, maybe more. Didn't he deserve to have a chance to live as long he could considering the misfortune inflicted upon him by his defective genes? Why should he settle on letting his all-too-brief life come to an end at the hands of some undeserving, desperate student who was probably some kind of rich spoiled brat or gang thug? How was that fair to him?
He gazed back down at his slumbering sister, so at peace and calm on his lap. That earlier anger over Maddie's suggestion that they play to win surged. His eyes narrowed. His teeth ground together irritably. Dark thoughts became darker.
Why not let Maddie fight for him? Why not let her take the chances and risks for once? Why not let her face the wrenches and the knives and the bullets? Why not let her face death this time? She owed him! If it wasn't for him, she would…she would've been…
A sliver of a memory flashed in his head. Scowling faces, breath hot and heavy with alcohol. Hands pulling and tearing at his sister's clothes. A scream roaring from his mouth as he ran toward her. A fist to his face. A knee to his gut. Being forced to watch an unthinkable humiliation as he struggled against blacking out. A final, relentless beatdown that left him hovering near death.
Tears welled up slowly in his eyes as they widened in shame of what he'd been thinking earlier. How could he…? What made him think…? How could he see…? Why would he even…?
Eyes still locked on his twin's sleeping form, he leaned down and wrapped his trembling arms around her body; pulling her into a tight embrace. She immediately came to life, trying to push up; fearful that someone else had come to attack them. "Wha…?" was all she managed to get out before her voice was muted by his body. But he didn't care. He just held her close to him, no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel.
"An…Andy," she forced out, voice muffled by his abdomen and still struggling to brake his hold, "wh-what's wrong? What's…what's happened? Wh-why…why are you…"
But he just let the rest of her words fade away. How could he think of his sister like that? How could he ever think of using her to keep him alive? What was wrong with him? What was happening to him? To either of them?
As he continued to clutch Maddie close, the first tears finally fell from his eyes; but not from the memories that had assaulted him. Not from the fears that tormented him. Not even from the way he'd thought of using his sister to keep him alive.
No, the tears that fell were from a new fear; a fear that the crazy death game would push him to think that way again. It was a fear that 'the Blitz', in the end, would force him to sacrifice Maddie to be the last one standing. And the chill that fear sent shivering up his spine only made him cling to his sister even harder.
Boys, No. 08
LaTrey Johnson
"How to Handle an Unbelievable Truth"
He glanced blankly at the chunky puddle of vomit that sat between him and the dead body. He'd rather look at the partially digested remains of his in-flight meal than spend another second staring at the ruined mess of torn, bloodied flesh, exposed skull and gelatinous brain matter that was once the body's face. The scent of the mess he had made intermingled with the humid, salty sea air which, in turn, had intermingled with the awful, old smell of evacuated bowels and other bodily fluids. His stomach threatened to lurch every time he tried to take a breath.
But then, that was the effect that the scent of death had.
LaTrey didn't recognize the face in front of him. How could he when there wasn't anything left to identify? What he did recognize, however, was the one that had made him vomit in the first place. Unlike the other, it was fully intact except for the perfect, round hole in the center of her forehead.
Yet even with the pale, swollen nature of it and the thin trails of blood from the bullet hole. Even with the deep, blue-black bruises and bloodied lips. Even with it splotched irregularly with dry, yellowish-white stains; he would always recognize the face of his French teacher, Mrs. Chase.
As much as he wanted to deny it, he also recognized the uncovered curve of her breasts. The front of the blouse was violently ripped open; the bra underneath pushed up to her shoulders and neck. There were similar spots of yellow-white splashed across the swell of her chest, the bra and the tattered fabric of her top. The upped half of her body was all he was able to see. The lower part of it was buried beneath the other bodies hastily thrown atop her. He was grateful for that because he didn't want to see any more evidence of her…violation.
As unthinkable as it was, his French teacher hadn't just been murdered in cold blood. She had also suffered the worst possible humiliation before that. Mrs. Chase – sweet, kind and possessing a wonderful sense of humor – had been raped.
The realization of her rape and murder wasn't what made him throw-up, however. It was the sudden recognition of just what the dried, yellowish substance on her face and chest was. That was when the contents of his stomach came spilling up out of his mouth.
It wasn't like she'd been the only teacher on the trip. There'd been nine others, ranging in ages and appearance; personalities and views. Each one of them was there to represent and chaperone the students from the ten schools involved in the essay contest. During the Orientation, through the fear and horror he'd succumbed to, he remembered disjointedly wondering why the teachers hadn't been present. Why they hadn't been there to curtail the madness descending on them. The fact that he had wandered across nine other bodies strewn haphazardly atop or around that of his teacher pretty much answered those questions. But it didn't answer the other.
What kind of sick monsters would do this?
LaTrey kept his eyes focused on the vomit despite the unsettling churn in his stomach. He had to keep focused on it. Otherwise, he wasn't sure how much longer his sanity would hold up in light of the scene before him. The repulsive scent in the air wasn't helping things, though. Neither was the partially enclosed space that the corpses were heaped in nor the dull yellowish-orange glow of the exterior lights they were bathed in. It gave everything in the small area a sick, diseased kind of hue; the kind that conjured up images of those 2012, end of the world documentaries his father liked to watch on the History Channel but still dismissed as bullshit.
Considering that he was living through his own personal apocalypse at the moment, he didn't find the parallel all that humorous.
At least the sun had already set. The heat and sunlight was going to make this section of the platform the last place anyone wanted to come across. He wished he had never come across it. Then he wouldn't have found out about…
He let the thought fade sadly.
Gaze still forced downward, he pushed away from the sight at a very deliberate and meticulous pace. Quiet and careful, that was what he needed to be. Invisible. Remain unseen and he would have a much better chance at keeping himself alive.
Everyone else will be going after the ones they can find, the ones too stupid to hide themselves away, he thought as he continued to push away from the dead bodies. He wasn't dumb – or naïve – enough to believe that none of the other students wouldn't play the game to win.
Who wouldn't want to go home and escape the hell they'd been kidnapped into?
No, he knew better. Desperation must already be setting in by now. Friends, classmates, even lovers and family…that Omatsu woman was right; none of that would matter in the end. Those Japanese bastards had dangled a prize apple of life in front of students who were starving to avoid death. They knew what it would do to all the kids they gathered for this so-called contest. Hell, he knew what it would do. After everything he'd put up with at school…well, it was just easier to say that he didn't have very much confidence in the kindness of others.
With the exception of Mrs. Chase, everyone else in his life seemed content to just step all over him or to completely ignore the fact that he existed. It was a long list of people that felt that way about him. And at the top of that list was his father.
Eyes locked onto the deck as he continued to push away from the bodies piled in front of him, he didn't try to hold back the feelings of loneliness and despair that had washed over him. Questioning his father's seeming lack of concern for his well being always changed his mood no matter where he was. There was nothing that he shared in common with the man. Even their appearance didn't match up. There was much more of his mother in him than his father. Her smooth and lissome features definitely showed up more on his face than his dad's strong and rugged ones; her deep brown eyes, slender cheeks and caramel-colored skin mirrored in his face. He was more a part of her than he was of that man who called himself his father.
Abandonment.
That was what he felt whenever he thought of her. His mother. The woman who had left him in the care of a man who didn't. But he didn't hate her. He could never hate her.
It wasn't her fault that all of this had happened. It wasn't her fault that his father was so emotionally bottled up that his love for her was hidden behind a wall of ice. It wasn't her fault that he became a ghost to his family, spending more time working at that damned plant than spending time at home with them.
It just wasn't her fault in any way he could think of. It was all his father's doing. All of it.
Afterall, the man prided himself on being a model of calm and reserve. He hated that about him. He hated that his father was such a patient man. It was that patience; that calm and reserve that had driven his mother into the arms of another man.
His father's composure and logic-minded thinking had created a rift between them, which led her to sleep around and in turn led to a very bitter divorce about twenty-two years down the road. Jason had only been eleven then. Just three years ago. And from that day forward, he had felt completely dead on the inside in regards to his so-called father.
All because of the man's inability to truly allow himself to live in a world of warmth and emotion. All because his father thought it better to hide his feelings behind a wall of indifference and reason instead of expressing them to the woman he was supposed to love. Never once, after the divorce and he had gained custody of him, did his father show any hint of the kindness and compassion that his mother had.
Maybe that was why he was so drawn to Mrs. Chase. Because she reminded him of his mother. Because, unlike his father, she actually cared about him.
His eyes flickered unconsciously to the pale, dead face of his teacher. They fell just as quickly when his stomach tightened. How could those assholes do that to such kind and sweet person like Mrs. Chase? The only person in his life who gave a damn about him? What did she ever do to them? He felt bad about the other teachers too, but he didn't know them like he knew her. To see her like that…to find her like that…it was…it was…
He again let the thought fade into nothing. There wasn't anything he could do for her now. There was nothing he could do for any of them…except survive. Live until the end and make off the crazy death trap the platform was sure to become.
Someone had to tell the proper authorities. Someone had to make sure these sick bastards paid for what they did to Mrs. Chase; for what they did to everyone brought here! It would be his reason for staying alive. It would be his way of getting revenge for his murdered teacher.
He would live to make sure that an entire nation of murderers suffered.
LaTrey closed his eyes as tight as he could when they threatened to look upon the gruesome corpse of his teacher yet again. Tears welled up at the grisly image branded in the black of his mind. He tried to focus on his movements to wipe it away.
He knew he had to be getting closer to the alley he'd come through. It couldn't be that far away now. He had to be close. He had to be! He couldn't bear to see her face again!
Why…why did she have to die? Why Mrs. Chase and not some other bastard here? WHY HER YOU MOTHERFU –?
The angry thought ended abruptly as his back came up against a wall. Eyes still closed, he reached around anxiously to either side. When he'd first happened upon the gruesome scene and saw the bodies, he dropped both his GPS and canteen of water. He had been taking a sip to get rid of the dryness in his throat while following the directions on the handheld to get to his chest. What it had led him to instead was like something out of a horror movie.
He couldn't understand why the smell in the air didn't given away what he was about to walk into. Had he been too wound up in following the directions on his GPS to notice it? Or had his mind just convinced him it was a normal scent on the platform; or maybe even just a much stronger smell from the churning ocean? That was possible. Afterall, he'd come across similar disgusting scents while being at or near the beach back home in Texas.
Whatever the reason, he'd walked unknowingly into what was nothing more than a charnel house and gotten his worst shock since being told the why they had all been brought the oil rig by Omatsu; seeing the cold, lifeless face of Mrs. Chase. How long had he stared at her unmoving body before finally throwing up everything he'd eaten on the plane? How long did he stare into the wide, expressionless eyes of someone he came to think of as a friend and confidante?
He couldn't keep himself from opening his eyes again to look at her. The expression of absolute agony permanently painted across her once-smooth and lively features twisted his stomach back into knots. Saliva flooded into his mouth. He didn't try to fight it or hold it back.
LaTrey leaned roughly to the side and heaved up…nothing. For the next few minutes, he went through the motions of retching his guts up. It was a horrible feeling; the uncontrollable spasms that threw his body forward while absolutely nothing came up from his stomach and out of his mouth. The only thing falling to the deck was a few tears, some snot and a lot of spit and drool. He couldn't see how this was any worse than vomiting.
Finally, his body calmed down enough to pull himself upright. Sucking air in only though his mouth, he took a few deep breaths while leaning back against the warm wall. He glanced up into the black of the starless, night sky. The clouds had been gathering all evening and the only sun he'd seen was when it was setting. A few had been black – indicating that they were heavy with rain – while the majority was gray.
Would it rain tonight?
Rolling his head to the side to avoid looking at the bodies, he searched for the GPS and canteen. It didn't take long to find them. Both them were sitting in a puddle of remaining water from his canteen. He frowned before reaching for them. His hand wrapped around the damp strap and pulled the plastic container toward him. Just from how easily it slid to him, he could tell that it was pretty much empty; which meant he was going to have to put himself in harm's way to get more before he could even think about finding a place to hide.
"Gr-great," he grumbled, raising the nearly empty canteen up onto his lap. Releasing the strap, he bent over a little further than before to reach for the GPS. He hoped the thing was waterproof. If there was one thing he couldn't afford, it was for the thing to be damaged. He needed some way to protect himself and without a functioning GPS, it would be impossible to find his chest. The weapon inside it was important. So was the food.
His stomach lurched in an unsettling way at the thought of eating.
Choking down what felt like another dry heave, he picked up the GPS and turned it over in his hand a couple of times to inspect it. Most of the gray-black plastic exterior was spotted with dots of water droplets while the back of the small device was completely covered and slick. His stomach churned nervously as he placed a thumb on a side button and pressed it in. The three seconds it took for the screen to come to life seemed more like three hours to him.
He released a low sigh. At least the GPS still worked. That was all that really mattered now. He needed to find his chest and then get to someplace – any place – safe to wait out 'the Blitz' while everyone else on the platform tore each other apart. It was good a plan as any and it guaranteed that he would make it to the end alive.
As long as he didn't do anything stupid.
Lowering the GPS, LaTrey picked up his canteen and slung it across his chest. He looked down at his feet so that he wouldn't have to see the corpses. Once it was in place, he took hold of his GPS once again and pushed up from the deck unsteadily. Using the wall as support, he leaned against it as he raised the small handheld about halfway up and gazed at it.
He clicked the side button a couple of times until he came to the map screen and then the arrow keys on the face of the device to scroll through the available multicolored floors until the flashing dot indicating his destination point appeared. After studying it for a moment or two, he found himself frowning. According to what the GPS was relaying to him, he was in the area where his chest was located. But that didn't seem to make any sense. There was nothing in the small recess but…bodies.
How in the world could the thing be indicating that this was where his weapon chest was? It just wasn't making any sense! Maybe the GPS was broken; damaged by the water from the canteen that had spilled all over it. What else could it be?
LaTrey fiddled with the buttons on the GPS again. He scrolled between all the different sections of the oil rig; double-checked the menu screen and his waypoint settings. When that gave him the same results, he deleted the waypoint and reentered it. The device spent a few seconds recalculating a path from his new location to the weapon chest. When the new direction appeared, his eyebrows rose in surprise.
This…this can't be right, he thought. Why does this stupid thing keep saying that the chest is here? The only things here are…are the bodies and they –
His eyes widened.
It… It couldn't be. I mean…they wouldn't…
The thought trailed off as he reluctantly raised his eyes from the GPS. His heart was beating faster and faster. His mind was whirling. The pit of his stomach had gone cold at the thought of what it meant if the GPS wasn't malfunctioning.
His gaze fell on the ten lifeless bodies lying in a messy sort of pile in the center of the enclosed space. Stomach rolling at the grisly sight, he fought to keep himself from erupting into another bout of dry heaves. The half-naked corpse of Mrs. Chase was at the bottom of two other bodies, dead eyes seeming accusing and pleading at the same time.
He resisted the urge to close his eyes or look away. His body was shaking and his heart was racing. Tears had reappeared in his eyes. But they weren't for his teacher. Not this time.
No, the tears were for what he was going to have to do. He was… He was going to have to… He was going to have to…dig through a pile of corpses to find out if his chest was actually where the GPS was indicating.
LaTrey swallowed hard as he suddenly become very aware of his surroundings.
A… A pile…
The thought crushed down on him. His head felt like it was going to swell and explode. A single thought. Two words. Everything else was blank except for them. A… A pile… It was followed by more thoughts. They echoed oddly in the dark of his mind.
A… A pile of bodies. But piled on…what? Each…other? Or…on something…else? A pile of bodies… A pile of bodies… A pile of bodies… A pile of…
The disjointed, strange thoughts continued to loop over and over in his head. His vision became tunneled. His eyes widened unconscionably. They became a rumble in his mind that grew louder and louder.
A… A pile of bodies. But piled on…what? Each…other? Or…on something…else? A pile of bodies… A pile of bodies… A pile of bodies… A pile of…
He couldn't stop them. They were taking on a life of their own. Realization, he facing a grim realization and his mind was refusing to accept the obvious truth that lay before it. He was vaguely aware of the weak feeling in his knees.
But was it real or imagined?
Something… Something seemed wrong…in his head. The world around him spun wildly for a moment. Everything became a blur yellow-orange and black. Things seemed to be unraveling. Everything was…
He wavered but the wall behind him kept him from falling back to the deck. He was known for rational thinking. But nothing he had witnessed, nothing he had heard seemed rational. It was all so…so… So unreal!
It was rational for him to be one of twenty-nine finalists for a nationwide French Essay contest; thereby earning a trip to Paris. The work he had put into writing that essay was not something imagined, that he knew for sure. However, what followed those very real events seemed hazy and nightmarish.
How was it logical, in any sense of the word, for him to also be drugged, kidnapped and forced to participate in an absolutely insane competition where only one person could win? Did it really make sense for someone like him to be picked out for some crazy kill or be killed battle? The odds of that occurring had to be…had to be…astronomical!
And what about the odds of Mrs. Chase being chosen too? Of her being raped, murdered and thrown under a pile of other corpses? Did it even make sense for her to be here? With him?
The world around him heaved and twitched, distorting into dark splotches of muted colors.
Was he real? Was he even here? The entire thing seemed like something out of a nightmare. Could he be dreaming? Was he still on the plane?
A bitter, dry laugh croaked up from his throat and out of his mouth.
No, no, no. It didn't make any sense, did it? The trusted American Government sending its children, its future leaders off to some derelict in the South China Sea to die because…because of a few bad apples? Apples tasted good…especially the green ones. Was he a green apple? Of course he was! Green apples were good. They were good apples.
And if he was a good apple that meant he wasn't really standing in some eerie section of the platform staring at a pile of corpses that may or may not be hiding some imaginary box with some imaginary weapon and food inside it. Right? Right?
Of course he was right!
I… I'm not really here… I…I'm still…on the plane… We'll be…landing soon… Paris… Paris…
His foot took a shaky step forward.
Not…real… None of this…is real… Dream…nightmare… I'm not…here…
He pulled away from the wall and took another step.
Mrs. Chase… She…she's not here… On the plane… Still…on…the…plane…
Another step. And another. And another.
The…bodies… They aren't… They aren't really…here… The smell… Not real… Just a…dream… Yeah… A dream…
The corpses grew closer and closer.
Dreams… I con… I control…the dream… The smell… Not nasty… Roses… I smell…roses…
He took a deep breath through is nose as the bodies loomed in his eyes. His mind distorted the truth of the grotesque reality drifting up his nostrils. The scent of a thousand fresh roses flooded his senses. A smile creeped its way across his lips.
See…? Just a…dream… Dead bodies… They don't…smell like roses… But here…they do… In…my…dream…?
He reached a hand out. He flexed his fingers. The skin pulled taut and the stitched up incision on it burned into awareness. But he ignored it; banished it. Pain had no place in his dream.
In my dream…there are no bodies…
He took hold of a cold, dead arm.
Cold… What's cold…to touch…? Rocks…? No…ice… Ice is…cold… Yeah…pieces of ice… That's…that's what…I'm…moving… Ice…
He grabbed the lifeless arm with his other hand and pulled.
Moving…ice… That's all… Just ice… Ice that smells like…roses…?
He gave another good tug and the body slipped free. It crashed to the deck with fleshy thud. A new scent wafted up from the corpse and he gagged. The pungent odor of old piss and feces was overpowering. His mind desperately clawed at the delusion which had become reality.
No… No…! Not piss and shit… I would…never…dream of…that…! Some… Something else… Per…perfume… Yeah… Perfume… Paris… Roses and perfumes… That's what…it is… Roses and perfumes…
He took another deep breath and smiled. Stepping over the corpse, LaTrey reached out for another body and took hold. Getting a good grip, he gave it a hard yank. It slid free and fell to the deck; leaving a messy brown smear along the metal as he pulled it away from the mound. The pungent odor of death and defecation rose up around him again. But he just smiled.
Ice… Roses… Perfumes… They smell…nice…
Continuing with his task, LaTrey wore that odd smile as he remained blissfully unaware of the grisly reality taking shape around him.
In the next chapter of
1stAMERICAN BLITZ
Picked on since he was eight and bullied from nearly the first day he entered high school, the only other constant in Casey Fuller's life – besides pain and humiliation – was his childhood friend Leslie Thurston. Always there to defend him, Leslie was at times more like an overprotective tomboy of an older sister than his best friend. But that was fine with him because their friendship was more important than anything else. And they never kept secrets from each other.
That was before she met Jimmy Turner, however.
Now things between them were strained and he had no idea why. All he knew was that his longtime friend was dating the same guy who had beaten on him relentlessly almost since the first day set foot in Grand Terrace High School. And even though the abuse had stopped from the moment the two hooked up, the cost of losing Leslie was too high a price for him. On top of that, Casey had to worry about surviving alone in a deadly contest that seemed beyond belief.
If he couldn't find Leslie soon, his death wouldn't be a possibility…it would be a certainty.
Coming soon, "Emptiness and",
Chapter 15 of 1stAMERICAN BLITZ
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
It's been a long, strange road getting to the end of this chapter. The 'Summer of Hell' would be a more accurate description of how things went for me. You see, I went up to Houston to go visit my two sisters for the summer. It seemed like a good idea at the time. And up to a certain point, it was good.
Until everything just went…wrong.
First, I was crippled with one of the worst cases of writer's block that I've ever had. No creative ideas for nearly a month and a half. For me, that was too long. I usually have new ideas popping into my head on a regular basis. It gets pretty crowded up their sometimes. But not this time. I was completely barren, devoid of any literary thought.
And it sucked.
I just wasn't used to the quiet in my head. Fortunately, it didn't last the entire time I was up there. Eventually, I was able to begin work on the second Dramatis Personae chapter. Everything was proceeding well until my wonderful HP Pavillion DV4 laptop just up and died during a simple restart. In one crappy afternoon, everything I had worked so hard on became trapped on the computer's hard drive – which, of course, was inaccessible because I couldn't turn the damn thing on. For the last half of the month I was in Houston, I bounced between anger, depression and my own version of a 'recovery mode'.
Long and short of it? This was a hellish chapter to finish. But I did, thanks to some unusual kindness from my family and a new computer that kindness bestowed upon me. So now, I stand upon the threshold to finally post Dramatis Personae Opening Curtain and continue where I left off with 1st American Blitz. I'm not sure how many readers I've lost due to those unfortunate and unforeseen problems, but I promise those who remain that I will never give up on the story. I swore to myself that I would finish this one and I plan to do just that.
So, I hope that the long wait for this chapter is worth it. I labored long and hard on this, went to hell and back to get it posted up here today. I'm sorry if it isn't to everyone's liking. And please excuse any mistakes that I might have missed; especially in the last section (LaTrey's Chapter).
I hope that the characterization and plot are still up to my usual quality. Please enjoy everyone!
Ciao!
Terryll