Hour 23
35 Contestants Remaining
Eliza Mann, a.k.a. Girl # 19, woke up under the dirty blanket of an ages old army cot. The bed frame was old and rusty, creaking every time that she inched around on it and making her dread getting within inches of it. Tetanus. The last thing she'd need out here was an infection making her life miserable for the last hours of her life. She'd already been off her meds for more than a day, and the ADD was starting to kick in pretty fierce. Thoughts had ping-ponged through her head for some time, messing with the clarity and in general creating something of a pissy situation.
More than anything else, she was glad that there was one thing to give her clarity. She smiled secretly, a pleasant smile. She had her own clarity, the clarity that had always kept her sane, the clarity that had brought light into even the darkest of moments. Clarity, thy name is Jackson Brent, a.k.a. Boy # 7.
They had met during their freshman year in high school. Eliza had fought her way through the lunch line, accidentally knocking this scrawny and somewhat stoned guy to the floor and sending his tray flying. She apologized profusely, trying to pile everything back on his tray.
"Sorry," Eliza had said, "I can just be a goober sometimes."
At that, she kept going through the line, paid her way, and found a seat at one of the abandoned lunch tables. Everywhere else, the school's cliques formed, the cheerleaders, the jocks, the skaters, the Asians, the yuppies, the republicans, and Eliza couldn't bring herself to sit with any of them.
Then came the guy in his punk rock t-shirt and old army jacket, lunch tray in hand and walking on over to Eliza with a nervous smile.
"Hey, I'm Jackson, I can be a goober too sometimes," he said, "wanna do lunch together?"
Eliza had giggled, said yes, and they'd been together ever since. It was nice, it was friendly, it was fun, and it felt great.
And more than anything else, it made Eliza sad. The Battle Royale was screwed up for most people, but for couples, especially a couple as close as Jackson and Eliza... it would be the worst. They could commit suicide, and they had discussed it already, but it wasn't going to happen. Life was short enough as is, Jackson had rationalized, might as well spend every moment of it to its fullest. And that they had...
...or at least they had tried. Eliza released the blanket from her nude form, shivering slightly as the cool air met her skin. They had spent much of the time since Matt left making love, but it was fitful. It was rushed, it was hurried, and there was less emotion to it than either party would have liked. It was mechanical, and Eliza was more than willing to admit it, but it did help remove a lot of the stress. It took their minds away from death for a little while, and honestly every little bit helped.
Eliza sighed, thinking about how it was also a way to make sure Jackson wasn't constantly stoned. God bless Jackson, he was an unbearably sweet guy and really funny, but there was always a time and a place to get stoned. Battle Royale was not one of them. If he was wasted all the time, they'd be defenseless if anyone came around with ill intentions. Then again, getting caught with your pants down wouldn't work to your advantage either.
Still though, when he got stoned, Jackson was not always one of the funny stoners. More often than not, he was a paranoid stoner, and when he got started on a paranoid rant, it was hard to stop him. Then again, Eliza mused with a smile, get off the meds and you're no better. She pulled on her purple t-shirt and white overalls tenderly, trying not to make a lot of noise. She hadn't woken up next to Jackson, and if he was asleep in the next room, she did not want to wake him. Sliding her boots on, Eliza sighed.
She didn't want to die. She really didn't want to die. She was a photographer, a guitarist, killing people wasn't her thing. Fighting wasn't her thing, make love not war and all that jazz. Fucked up, seriously, this was all just wrong. She sighed again, really wanting to see Jackson and missing him even though he was only in the other room. Feeling a tear roll down her cheek, she wiped it away. Being sad around Jackson wouldn't help anyone right now. Sniffling slightly, she tried to clear herself up, smile a bit, and get along with what little life she had left.
Pulling her hair up into a quick and dirty bun as she walked into the other room, Eliza tied it with a rubber band. She could smell the smell, a very familiar smell for those who stayed around Jackson. The acrid smoke wasn't as bad as it usually was, partly because Jackson was kind enough to stick by an open window. He sat on a chair, feet propped up on another cot as he looked out the broken window to the ground below. He looked idly to the pile of Molotov cocktails they had made on the bed, then staring back out the window.
As she looked on her boyfriend, Eliza couldn't help but smile. He wasn't very attractive in the traditional sense, but being as non-traditional as they came, Eliza was more than pleased. He wasn't wearing a shirt, showing off that he was thin. He was very thin, almost impossibly so, maybe even slightly bony, with skin that was a bit too pale from staying indoors too long. His hair, his long, brown, greasy hair, hung loosely around his neck from beneath that ever-present beanie. Around his neck hung a light gold chain, its links tinkling ever so slightly as he moved. While many would have old dog tags or a cross hanging on a chain, Jackson's emblem of choice was an old razor blade, its edges filed down to prevent slicing him up.
The chain and blade reflected softly in what little moonlight there was, pretty much the only part of Jackson aside from the glow of his joint that showed in the darkness.
"Hey," Eliza said softly.
"Hey yourself," Jackson said, grinning slightly as he took his attention away from the window.
"Have you seen anyone?" she asked.
Taking a puff from his joint, Jackson held the smoke in his lungs for a moment before exhaling.
"Saw a couple of girls wandering by 'bout two hours ago," he said, "but they kept on their way, so we don't have any problems. Some gunshots a little while ago, one big, one smaller, otherwise not a whole lot."
"How long was I asleep?" Eliza asked with a smile crossing her face.
"Four, maybe five hours," Jackson said.
"Wow," Eliza responded with genuine shock. Don't be so surprised, off the meds remember? You always sleep better without that buzz going.
"Yeah," Jackson responded, "you were sleeping like a log. Snoring like a buzz saw, but sleeping like a log."
"Oh piss off," Eliza said with a giggle.
"Maybe later," Jackson said, "right now I'm just working on a nice buzz."
"That's good enough for me," Eliza said with her smile even wider. Getting closer, Jackson passed her the joint, to which she obligingly accepted.
Taking a puff, Eliza asked through a cough, "So what are we going to do?"
Taking the marijuana back, Jackson inhaled more smoke and looked to his girlfriend.
"I've been thinking that exact same thought since, well, this whole mess started," Jackson said, "it's on my mind, been eating at me for some time now. I don't want to die, but it seems like a foregone conclusion that dying right now is the only option."
"You always get so damned apocalyptic and paranoid when you're stoned," Eliza said, trying to lighten the mood.
"Maybe," Jackson said, "but this time I'd be right. There's bound to be people here trying to figure a way out, not like it's going to do them any good. We're not going to get out, neither are they. We're all going to die, and it fucking sucks."
"Yeah," Eliza said as she looked at her feet absentmindedly, "it does, doesn't it? But we can still look for more people, can't we?"
"Running around out there," Jackson said, "is stupid. God bless Matt, he's going out there with some high and noble cause, but he's going to die. Running around out there is just crazy, you don't know who you can trust, what's going to happen, and what everyone out there is really capable of. And I've heard the announcements, we've got classmates, normal, well-adjusted people who have done crazy fucking things. Crazy fucking things..."
"But, what if we-" Eliza said, cut off as Jackson waved his hand. He put two fingers in front of his mouth and looked harshly over to Eliza. With heart pounding, she could hear it too. Someone was wandering by, moaning loudly for some reason.
"They sound hurt," Eliza said.
"They sound like a zombie," Jackson said, eyes suddenly wild.
As they looked out the window, the figure became visible. It was a tall man, dragging his feet along with arms hanging limply at his sides. Even in the darkness they could see the bloodstains that littered his body.
"He really is hurt," Eliza said with care, then yelling, "HEY, OVER HERE!"
"Eliza, are you nuts?" Jackson asked harshly. Looking out the window once more, they could see that the figure had changed courses, half-jogging, half limping as he wandered over.
"Heeeeeel meeeeeee!" the figure moaned in a garbled manner, speaking as only a dying person could.
"He's really hurt," Eliza said, watching the man (now clearly shirtless as he got closer) get closer to their hideaway. As he reached ten feet from the building, Jackson quickly grabbed a Molotov cocktail and his lighter, preparing to strike at any moment.
"Jackson, stop, please, let's just try and help him!" Eliza pleaded, grabbing her boyfriends arms and causing him to drop his weapons on the bed.
It wandered directly to the wall below them, looking up wildly but finding nothing. Instead, it just tried to pry at one of the barred windows directly below theirs, failing miserably. The figure moaned even louder.
"Heeeeeeeel meeee!" it groaned louder than last time.
"Shit," Jackson whispered harshly, "he gets any louder he's gonna draw some bad attention our way!"
"He's really hurt," Eliza said, "we have to let him in."
"I'm fine with that if he can just shut up!" Jackson responded.
"Heeeeeeeel meeee!" the figure moaned, prying at the window as he looked up to Jackson and Eliza, "Peeez heeel mee!"
"We have to let him in," Eliza said.
"He's going to give us away!" Jackson said, "Besides, what if he's trying to trick us? What if he's got a gun or a knife or something and's trying to get us to let him in?"
"I don't know," Eliza said, "but he's really injured, I know it."
"HEEEEEL MEEEE PEEEEZ, I HURZ!" the figure wailed, pounding on the barred window below.
Angry and frustrated, Jackson ran across to the other side of the room. He reached to the cot, grabbing the Molotov cocktail he had dropped and walking over to the window. He fumbled around in his pocket for a moment, reaching for his trusty Zippo lighter while Eliza looked on with wide eyes.
"What the hell are you doing?" she asked.
Holding the Zippo, he spun the wheel grimly. Once, twice, three times, no flame. Fourth time, the sparks lit the end of the device and produced a small flame. Holding it up, he attempted to light the cloth that protruded from the bottle of fuel.
"I don't want to torch 'em," Jackson said, "just scare 'em off."
"Jackson, please..." Eliza said, holding her hand out to grab her boyfriend's arm.
"He's going to attract attention. Really, the guy's just hollering for help, which ain't gonna do us any good. He's just screaming and screaming, and even if he isn't gonna try and kill us, he's still gonna keep on screaming, and we really don't need that. You want to live, right?"
Jackson shifted into his charismatic tone, his caring tone, the tone that always tugged at Eliza's heartstrings.
"I don't want to play this game more than anyone else, I just want to spend the rest of my hours with you. I just want as many hours as I can get, and if he keeps screaming like this, we really aren't going to last very long."
He paused, grimacing slightly at the wailing.
"You're just scaring him off?" Eliza asked.
"Only scaring him off."
"Not trying to kill him?" she asked again.
"Yeah, swear, just scaring him off," Jackson responded.
She sighed, "Fine, do it."
Getting another flame from his lighter, Jackson lit the Molotov cocktail and held it out the broken window. He tossed it, aiming it so that it would land a good distance away from the person trying to get in. It shattered on the ground about twenty feet away, erupting in a small burst of flame as the figure below was knocked on his rear from shock.
"Go away!" Jackson yelled, "get the hell out of here!"
The figure below wailed from the shock, and promptly started limping away around the side of the building, clawing at the walls and trying to make his way around. He stumbled along the wall, wailing and moaning as he made his way out of sight. A moment of silence passed as Jackson and Eliza watched on, staring out the window and waiting for any sign whatsoever.
"Is he gone?" Eliza asked.
"I think so," Jackson whispered back.
They waited for another moment, listening and waiting. They could hear the wind as it rustled through the trees. Insects were droning from the jungle. A bolt of lightning spiderwebbed across the sky, releasing a crashing boom of thunder that rattled the building. Jackson jumped from the surprise.
Another sound made its way into the Brig, that of an old door creaking open and being flung on its hinges, followed by the familiar sound of, "Heeeeeel meeeeee!"
"Fuck, he's inside!" Jackson said, his eyes suddenly the size of dinner plates.
Looking around, Jackson quickly grabbed his sledgehammer and threw it down the ruined stairway. Having taken out the steps earlier for protection, the stairway was reduced to a sheer drop, so the sledge hit the ground with a loud impact.
"I'll take care of this," Jackson said intensely, grabbing another Molotov cocktail and holding it in hand. Walking over to the ruined staircase, he kneeled down lightly before jumping to the ground with a thud and a curse.
Eliza stood by, conflicted over what to do. She was afraid, she definitely did not want to die if she couldn't help it, and at the same time she didn't want Jackson or whoever was trying to get in to get hurt. Against her better judgment, she walked over to the damaged stairs, prepared for a fall, and dropped to the ground below.
Landing on her butt, Eliza had the wind knocked out of her and saw stars for a brief moment. Seeing her, Jackson came over and helped her to her feet, drawing her into a quick hug.
"Come on," Jackson said, grabbing his sledgehammer and lifting it up high onto his shoulder. Eliza begrudgingly followed her boyfriend as he led the way to the front of the brig. They could both hear the moans of the figure, but he was still impossible to identify or even really see. Holding her flashlight, Eliza hit the button to turn it on, illuminating the barred gate that led to the admittance office. Almost instantly, she screamed, dropping her flashlight with a metallic clank.
"Eliza, I need the light, turn it on!"
With hands shaking, she did, illuminating what at best could be described as a horrific sight. Standing behind the barred gate of the brig entrance, was Boy # 24, Gervase Rockwell.
At best, he could be described as a mess. At worst, he could be described as seriously fucked up. Under the harsh glow of Eliza's flashlight, the full extent of all his injuries were visible. His thumbs were gone in two bright splotches of red on his hands. The carvings into his chest had long since clotted and turned an odd, brownish black color. His skin was white and extremely pale, almost blue in many areas from complete and total shock and exposure to the elements. The flesh in his chest was drawn up tightly, making his ribs very visible and that much more frightening. His face however was the worst part. It was still a distorted and broken shape from when Marie had beaten him, while having bitten off his tongue made blood flow freely down his chin and neck. Like the rest of his body, the shock and exposure had caused his skin to turn a frightening bluish-white tint, drawing tightly against his bones and making him look like a frightening skeleton. His mouth hung open limply as he moaned, long strands of bloody drool roping out as he hollered.
"Peeez hep me guys, i hurz!"
The couple stood by in shock for a moment, looking on as Gervase rattled against the bars. The words, "MARIE COOPER DID THIS" stood out clearly on his chest, making Eliza sick to her stomach. Christ, someone not only did this to Gervase but took enough pride to write it out. God damn that's messed up.
Jackson tried his best to maintain his stomach towards the graphic scene, but if nothing changed, he wouldn't be too far behind.
"Just shut the fuck up!" Jackson yelled to the zombie-like Gervase.
"We'll help you but we need you quiet!" Eliza whispered harshly.
Gervase was out of it, that much was clear, as he didn't even seem to hear what they were saying, simply moaning again, "Heeeeellll meeee!"
"Jesus," Jackson muttered, swinging his sledgehammer high and connecting it with the barred gate, getting a loud and metallic clang. The sound echoed, getting all three in the room to back off from their respective spots just from the sheer noise. Jackson repeated the process in an effort to scare Gervase off the bars. The wounded boy whimpered, backing away slightly and looking on in half-catatonic, half-glazed over eyes. He wandered back to the bars, looking into Jackson's eyes pitifully. Jackson contemplated smashing the hammer into the gate once more, but that seemed unnecessary now. He was quiet. Jackson took a tentative step forward, holding his sledge as defensively as ever.
"That's it," Eliza said soothingly, "we can help you. Just please, be quiet."
Looking around dimly like a sedated animal, Gervase looked to Eliza, and then to Jackson. A moment of recognition went as he put two and two together, making his mouth twist into an angered grimace.
"Yuu rieed ta buurrr me!" Gervase accused, slipping his arms further through the bars and grabbing Jackson with remarkable strength. Gervase pulled him towards the bars, slamming Jackson up against the metal with a resounding clang and bashing his head. He pulled Jackson to the bars repeatedly, each time getting a ringing report as his head bounced off the metal. Jackson dropped his sledgehammer, the weapon falling to the floor with a thud.
"YU RIED TA BURR ME! YU RIED TA BURR ME!" he hollered, slamming a now bloodied Jackson against the bars.
"Jackson!" Eliza shrieked, trying to pry Gervase's thumbless hands from her boyfriend with little success. Gervase was amazingly strong given his condition, and his fingers were wound tightly around Jackson's shoulders. He even managed well without thumbs, which terrified Eliza all the more upon viewing the ragged stumps close up. Trying to think quickly, she quickly grabbed Jackson's sledgehammer and tried to lift it. The weapon was unbearably heavy in her thin arms, but she had to save him. Lifting it high, she dropped it hard on one of Gervase's arms.
It snapped with a loud crack, breaking at a right angle halfway across Gervase's wrist. He screamed loudly, backing away enough for Jackson to pull away. In his own defense, Jackson brought up the Molotov cocktail and smashed it over Gervase's head. Gasoline and shards of glass flew every which way, making Gervase scream even more. He stumbled away, clawing at his face and screaming even more. Jackson fell to the floor, coughing and sputtering, holding his head and spitting out some blood.
"Son of a bitch!" Jackson muttered, looking at the man stumbling away, leaving behind a trail of gasoline.
"Jackson, baby, you ok?" Eliza asked.
"Hurts like a mother..." he trailed off, looking as Gervase thrashed around in the front room and noticing the puddle of gasoline that was leaking off of him. Truly, truly pissed off for the first time in the game, Jackson felt the Zippo lighter in his pocket.
"Fucker," Jackson muttered with a bit of spite, pulling the lighter from his pocket and quickly flipping it open. Spinning the wheel, he got a flame. Eliza glanced over with wide eyes, a terrified look crossing her face.
"Jackson, no!"
He dropped the Zippo to the floor, its flame touching the small puddle of gasoline that had dripped off Gervase. Almost immediately, the vapors reacted to the flame, igniting the gasoline. Quickly the fire raced over to Gervase, sending the young man screaming as he ran around the room, slamming into walls, knocking over a chair and kicking open the door as he ran outside in a ball of fire. His bright orange outline danced along in the night, disappearing into the darkness with an eerie glow.
They could still hear his screams.
Sitting down, leaning against the bars, Jackson rubbed his temples. Gervase had done a number on him, slamming him against the solid steel pipes, and the pain was excruciating. He looked around haphazardly, watching as the gasoline quickly burned out on the concrete floor. Jackson sighed, at least he didn't have to worry about the building burning down, that much was a plus. He looked around, trying to sight Eliza but not seeing her.
"Eliza?" he asked tentatively.
Listening for a response, he heard a muffled coughing followed by some sobbing. He grabbed the staff to the sledgehammer, dragging the large metal end behind him as he walked. The sharp, screeching sound of metal on concrete was loud, but not enough to drown out Eliza's whimpering entirely.
Walking the short hall between the holding cells, Jackson sighed. There she was, sitting in the cell behind the staircase, curled up in a ball in the corner, holding her flashlight limply. The sharp smell of vomit permeated through the air, and if it wasn't something that Jackson was already very accustomed to, he'd probably be sick. Standing in the doorway of the cell, Jackson spoke.
"Eliza?" he asked hesitantly. She didn't respond, simply looking off to the side as she kept seated.
"Eliza?" he asked again.
As his eyes accustomed to the dark more, Jackson could see that she had not only been sick, but she had also been crying. Tears streamed down her cheeks, causing Eliza to wipe them away with the back of her hand.
"Eliza?" Jackson asked, "Please, say something."
She sighed, looking towards Jackson with hostile eyes.
"That was Gervase out there," Eliza said in a monotone.
She paused, wiping away more tears as she shut off her flashlight.
"Gervase Rockwell," she said with conviction, "we've known him since we were freshmen. He wanted our help. He was hurt, and he wanted our help, and we fucking lit him on fire! Please forgive me if I'm not exactly in the best of moods."
Jackson sighed. This wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted, was to protect them both. Actually, what he really wanted was to get the hell out of here, but since that wasn't an option, keeping them safe until the very last moment would have to do. More than anything else, he just wanted to say that he was sorry. He wanted to just get down on his knees, beg for forgiveness and apologize profusely for what he did.
As much of a stoner as he was, Jackson knew that apologizing simply wouldn't do it. Eliza started to cry once more, pulling more at Jacksons heartstrings than he really knew how to express. With little else in mind, Jackson entered the cell that stunk of his girlfriend's vomit, sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She cried even more, leaning her head into his neck.
"I don't want to die," Eliza said through her tears.
After a brief pause, Jackson responded, "Me too," he sighed, "me too..."
They held each other for a long time, sitting in the dingy holding cell and just staying close to one another. The only interruption was from Jackson's wristwatch as the cheap device beeped harshly on the hour.
12:00 am.
One day down, two to go.
