Hey! So I'm sorry it took me so long to update, but I just started my freshman year of high school, and I'm still get acclimated, so I've been more focused on school than writing. But, I've finally got it ready, and I hope you all like it. But before you read, I'd like to thank all my new and old readers, because you guys set a fucking record for my LOTF stories! 13 reviews for one chapter! Seriously guys, you have no idea what that means to me. So I'm dedicating this chapter to you, my lovely readers, for sticking with me despite my craziness and pathetic updating schedule! Enjoy!

"No, no you're lying!" I exclaim. "He's just- just- he's not gone!"

"Erin, calm down," Ralph says.

"No!" I yell. I clap my hands over my ears. "Liar, liar, liar!"

"Erin, will you just-" Roger starts.

"La la la, I can't hear you!" I chant.

"Would you SHUT UP?!" Roger puts a hand on my shoulder. "It's over! Let's just get you inside okay?"

"No!" I shriek, pushing both boys away. "Get the fuck away from me!"

"Oh for Christ's sake!" Roger then slams his fist into my skull and everything around me goes black.

"Erin," Ralph says, shaking my shoulders gently. "Erin wake up." His voice is hazy to me, but it does the trick. I sit up slowly and glance at the dingy gray stone walls around me.

"Where are we" I ask. I feel a throbbing pain at the back of my head and then add, "What happened?" He looks uneasy.

"Roger caught us when we were trying to escape, and he kind of roughed you up. You broke your leg, he dislocated your shoulder- don't worry though, he put it back in place- and he knocked you out because you wouldn't stop screaming after..." he trails off, not wanting to say more. It all comes back to me and the dull aching sensation in the pit of my stomach becomes a searing, unbearable pain.

"Simon's dead," I whisper. I run both hands through my hair. "Oh God, Simon's dead." Ralph buries his face in his hands.

"I'm sorry Erin. I should've talked him out of it, we should've planned more or waited until we were all healthier. Oh God, I'm so sorry," he murmurs. I should probably comfort him. I should tell him it's not his fault, but the only word I manage to whisper is, "Simon.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. He reaches toward me, but I shrink back.

"I-I think I'm going to sit in the corner now," I say softly. Then I crawl to the corner, hug my knees to my chest, and cry silently. I cry and I cry until I can't cry anymore, all the while not making a sound. I don't elave the corner for a long time after I'm all cried out. In fact, I sit here for days. I'm vaguelyh aware of Roger coming to bring us food, and then Ralph trying to coax me to eat. Ralph may or may not ahve spent an hour sitting in front of me, waving his hands in my face and pleading with me to say something. It's possible that Percival came and cried helplessly before me, begging me not to ignore him anymore. If I'm rememering correctly, Maurice had to drag him out kicking and screaming. These things don't register with me, night and day don't make a difference anymore. All I can do is think and listen to the sounds, the ones in my head. I hear Willie's laugh and then his choked sobs, the voice of a boy hissing to shut up, during the rise of the sun. I hear the rumble and the crash of a rock, the thud of Danny's head hitting the ground and cracking during the afternoon. I hear Simon again and again, Just get it over with.

Sometimes, I swear I hear Willie laughing, that high, breathy ghost of a laugh that his poor family will never know again. And then I can almost imagine him running in, asking me to play Superman, or to get Simon and Piggy and play Sardines.

And your voice was all I heard, that I get what I deserve
So give me reason to prove me wrong, to wash this memory clean

Oh Willie, why couldn't I protect you well enough?

Then, when the hunters are gone and Ralph is lost deep in thought, as he often is nowadays, I feel like Danny's in here somewhere with us, just out of my field of vision. I imagine that he's sitting there, cleaning his glasses on his greasy windbreaker, just waiting for a nerd-off or a deep conversation about William Golding. But then I look around for him and see he's not there, and I feel more lost than ever.

Little girl, little girl
You dirty liar
You're just a junkie
preaching to the choir

Why did they have to try to save me? Why did he have to keep talking?

Then there's the worst of all. I'll hear a laugh carried in by the breeze, one with some sort of musical note in there somewhere, and it's Simon. His laugh, the one his own brother silenced, the one that would go high, and he'd then correct by coughing and forcing a lower sound. That funny little laugh I'll never hear again. Why did he have to come back for me? If he had just waited, or if he had just let me go, he'd be alive right now. Would they have all been better off if I'd died in the crash, or drifted off to safety like I pray my family did? Other times, I hear Jack's voice, ordering the hunters or just taunting Ralph, but the words I hear don't match. All I hear is that awful farewell, Meet me there. He killed his own brother. And he doesn't even care.

At the end of the world
Or the last thing I see
You are
Never coming home

There's a strange sort of guilt when remembering Simon, different from the guilt I feel over Danny and Willie. It's mixed with that awful fear I feel when Jack, my Jack Fitzgerald, gets really sick, like a few years ago when he had to go to the ER, and he was all alone in another state without us. I know the guilt, I felt it all the time, but it's worse now than ever.

I never claimed to be in love with Simon. Sure, I loved him more than I'd ever loved any guy outside my family, but I'm fhirteen. I know he most likely wasn't the love of my life, in the same strange way that I know I won't be one of those smiley old ladies sitting on the front porch with their husbands. I know that if we were ever rescued, I would've broken up with him so I wouldn't be the skanky chick, just in eighth grade and already with a boyfriend. That's for future hookers, everyone knows that. And now he's gone, and for all I know, he truly believed I loved him. Now I'm a liar with a dead boyfriend, which, believe me, is far worse than being the eighth grade skank with a living boyfriend. He died under an illusion, and I'll have to live with that forever.

It's when I think about this that the crippling guilt takes over me. It's that horrible feeling, the one I think most people must get when they think about death and other such unpleasant topics. It feels like bugs are crawling around on the insides of my stomach, like the acids in my stomach are building up and eating away at my insides, and my lungs can't seem to take in enough air. And with all this horrible guilty aching, all I can think is, It's my fault that they're dead. If I hadn't been there, Danny would've been in charge of the littluns. He never would've let Willie out of his sight, and Roger never would've gotten to him. If I hadn't been there, Simon wouldn't have been heartbroken. He would've gone to the feast with Ralph and Danny, and his life never would've been threatened in the first place. He wouldn't have gone back to save anyone because there wouldn't be anyone to save, and he'd be alive right now. If I hadn't been there for the hunters to kidnap me, Danny would've never started lecturing them, and Roger never would've killed him. It's my fault. All my fault.

And the worst part is, Ralph is next. And then I'll be alone, and it will be all my fault.

Tonight, on my fourth night of silence, Samneric make their first appearance all week. They're once again being trusted to watch us and make sure we won't get away, but seeing as I'm immobile and Ralph is too good to leave me behind, there doesn't seem to be much danger of that. The crippling ache has been coming in long, awful spurts all day, so when they begin talking to Ralph, I listen, thankful for any distraction.

"You can't-"

"-stay here Ralph. It's dangerous," one finishes for the other. Listening closely, I've begun to notice that Sam is always the one to start the sentence, and Eric is always the one to finish.

"What do you mean?" Ralph asks nervoushly.

"What we mean is that-"

"-Jack's sick of having you around. He's gonna-"

"-finish you off in a few days. Roger's-"

"-got a tick sharpened at both ends and everything," they say in low voices, not wanting to alert the others to what they were telling him. Ralph pales and scratches at the back of his neck.

"W-What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, sounding as if he already knows. The twins shake their heads.

"You have to leave Ralph," they say at the same time.

"Tonight, while they're all sleeping, we'll-"

"-tell you when it's okay, and then-"

"-you go and get as far as you can. That's-"

"-all you can do." Ralph considers this plan for a moment, glances at me in my corner, and shakes his head.

"Erin hasn't moved or spoken in days, and even if I managed to get her going, she can't walk on that leg, it's all swollen and it's still hanging at an angle. And I can't just leave her behind," he says. Then he sighs. "Thanks anyways guys. I really appreciate how much you've been trying to help us. I'm sorry it wasn't enough." The boys are all silent and refuse to look each other in the eyes. I raise my head a bit, look around at them, and then scowl.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me," I say, my voice dry and coarse from days of disuse. They all look up at me in shock.

"What are you-" Ralph starts. "Erin, there's nothing we can do."

"Ralph, Simon's dead, Danny's dead, and Samneric have been sticking their necks out for us at every opportunity. Most of our friends died, and all that's left is us Ralph. They died for us," I begin. "Ralph, they're going to chop your head off and put it on a stick, and when they're done with that, I'm gonna get fucking raped." All three boys turn a dark shade of red at my mention of the word. "Oh, it's going to happen and you know it. Anyways Ralph, we're both doomed if we stay here. Three kids have died on this island, and they plan on making you four. And you're saying that we should resign ourselves to that because I have a broken leg? Well, I'm sorry Ralph, but at the moment, my owwies are a bit of floccinaucinihilipillificati on! I can limp a few miles, I promise you it won't kill me. So hike up your skirt, grow a pair, and let's hit the road!" They all stare at me blankly.

"Erin-" Sam begins suddenly.

"-you can talk!" Eric continues in shock. I roll my eyes.

"Are we going or not Ralph?" I ask. He looks at me blankly, then chuckles awkwardly.

"I guess we're going." I grin.

"Well then. Samneric, we're on your signal."

Yay! They're getting out of there! Did you like Erin's little shut down in the middle of the chapter. You have no idea how much sick pleasure I got writing that. I'm sorry, but I just love to torture my characters. I have sad/exciting news for you all. There's only about three chapters left after this one! And then, of course, there will be Going Under, but still, it won't be the same. However there will be some lovely new characters, who I shall give you a brief introduction to.
Jack Fitzgerald- brother de Erin
Alaina Fitzgerald- sister de Erin
Stella Caler- friend de Erin
Julia Martin- friend de Erin
Fiona White- friend de Erin
Mackenzie Manger- friend de Erin
Leo Carter- frenemy de Erin
Alexis Aarons- friend de Erin
Miles McAllister- brother de Roger
And those, my friends, are the characters you can be looking forward to in the sequel. So, I need to thank my friends/frenemies, Stephanie, Julia, Fiona, MaryClaire, and Alex for letting me base characters on them in so many stories. Oh, and my older brother and sister, for being great inspirations for Erin's older siblings. That's about it. Oh, and did you enjoy my fanciful word in Erin's speech? It's real by the way. I learned it in Latin. Wow, I'm really rambling now. A little more rambling. If there is anything in particular you'd like to see in the last few chapters or in Going Under, please feel free to let me know, and as always, REVIEW!