Hey guys, thanks for all the reviews! I always love getting those! Just a warning to everyone, though. . .be prepared for some character deaths. Because this is not the kind of story where everyone comes out alive.
They came streaming out of the forest in one, uniform line. There weren't that many of them, Claire realized. Probably only a dozen. But each one clutched a rifle or shotgun in one hand. And they had no weapons.
"Damn Sawyer," Sayid said angrily, spitting on the ground. He didn't say anything else, but everyone knew what he was thinking. If only they had some guns. If only they had some way to protect themselves. . .
"All right," Sayid looked around, took stock of the situation. There was nobody around to help. He pointed to Jin, Hurley, Libby, Bernard, Locke, Scott.
"All right," he said. "You men with me. The rest of you. . .gather together, near the water. Take care of one another."
Claire clutched her baby even closer to her chest, and began slowly retreating. Aaron began to fuss, and she tried to be calm as she ran a hand down his back.
"Hush little baby, don't say a word," she sang, her voice trembling. She felt Sun's eyes on her, and turned to see the other woman placing a hand on her own belly. Tears pricked at the young Australian's eyes.
"This is not good," Sun said, over and over, repeating it like a mantra.
"We have to do something," Rose said. She, alone, sounded calm out of all the women gathered at the beach. "We can't just let the men up there. . ."
Claire thought about it. They needed guns. But Sawyer had hidden them, and no one knew where they were.
Short, static memories flashed through her head. Ethan, the doctors, an injection, the plane's explosion, Charlie and a jar of peanut butter, Aaron's birth, Rousseau
"That's it," Claire exclaimed. She walked over to Sun, and gently handed Aaron over. "Sun, I need you to take care of my baby," she said.
"No," Sun whispered the words shaking her head.
"Yes," Claire nodded, getting a little choked up. She didn't want to leave her baby, not now, not when there was so much danger, but she had to do something to help, she couldn't just leave things as they were.
"And just where do you think you're going, hon?" Rose asked. Claire marveled at the woman's ability to remain so matronly and calm, even in the midst of the hell they were quickly finding themselves in.
Claire smiled, tremulous, a single tear escaping and running down her cheek. She ran a finger over Aaron's downy head. One last time, she told herself. Just in case. One last time.
"To get help," she said. There was a crash from the frontier of jungle and beach. Turning, she saw the men and Libby with knives, chairs, pieces of metal, crashing full force into the Others. For some reason no guns rang off. But they were engaged.
Claire took off running.
Sawyer kept a firm grip on the gun, even as he fell to the ground. The man in the middle fell as well, he noticed. Thank goodness for small favors. But the other two were still standing, smoke issuing from the barrels of his gun.
Sawyer closed his eyes a moment, and closed out everything. He closed out the pain, the smell of gun and blood, the sweat, the pain, the pain. He focused on the breathing of the other two men. He focused on the crashing sounds he could hear within the hatch. He focused on Kate's face, lost somewhere in the jungle with Jacko.
"He dead?" one of the men asked.
"Only one way to find out," the other said. A moment later, Sawyer felt a toe digging into the soft side of his belly. As quickly as he could, he lifted the gun and shot. A groan, and a third body hit the ground.
He turned the gun, sighting along it to find the surprised gaze of the third man. But it was too late, he realized. He couldn't aim and fire quickly enough, the other man's finger was descending on the trigger, and he tried to say good-bye to her
But there was no need, for the man's eyes abruptly and inexplicably rolled up in his head, and he pitched sideways. Four down, Sawyer thought. How many more to go?
"What happened?" Ana asked, leaning heavily against the door to the hatch. She looked horrible, Sawyer thought. Bruises darkened her pale face, and straggled hair caught in her clothing, her mouth, the metal of the hatch. She was hunched over one side, as though it hurt her, and clutched one hand tightly against her chest.
"What happened to you, sugarpie?" Sawyer rasped. "You look like death warmed over."
"Yeah, well, you should see yourself," she managed with a smile. She hobbled over to him, reached a hand, and somehow, miraculously, they managed to both stand.
"Did they get you?" she asked him. Sawyer nodded, remembering now the rush of pain.
"Twice," he said. "Three times if you count the raft. Them bastards going to pay."
"Well," Ana said wryly, glancing at the three bodies on the ground. "Looks like three of them already have. Here, let's get you in, slap on some of those bandages Jack always keeps around."
But Sawyer shook his head, obstinately. "No," he said. "We gotta get the guns."
"Wha—?" Ana began to ask, but then she understood. "You think there are more of them?" she asked. Sawyer didn't answer. He grabbed one of Locke's abandoned crutches. It hadn't been used since yesterday, and he was pretty sure Mr. Clean wouldn't miss it anyway. Planting it firmly on the ground, he attempted to walk forward. It made it possible, despite the searing pain in his leg. Bastards, he thought angrily, once again. The leg and the shoulder, again. Damned shoulder.
"Wait," Ana abruptly stopped his progress. She leaned to the ground, picked up the three guns, and handed one to Sawyer. He glanced at it a moment. It was still hot. Shrugging his uninjured shoulder, he dropped it into the waistband of his pants.
"What you sayin, hot lips?" he asked, a smile pulling at his lips. She didn't smile in return.
"I'm saying I'm coming with," she said firmly. Sawyer didn't complain. That was nice, she thought. Jack would have. And then she had to wonder where Jack was, if he was even alive. He, after all, was the one who had wanted to challenge the Others.
Well, she thought, looking at the hobbling Sawyer and considering her own injuries. He'd gotten his wish.
Mr. Eko lay on the ground, staring at the irrefutable proof of his failure. The church lay in shambles, branches strewn across the beach. Footprints had trod through every corner of his santuary.
He moved his head to the right, and found himself peering into the face of a young woman.
"They destroyed my church," he said.
"I know," she responded. He turned to look at the sky again, at the white clouds gently moving through blue seas. The wonder of God, he thought, that the sky could be so tranquil when the earth was at war.
"It hurts," he told her. He himself wasn't certain whether he was talking about his own pains, or the destruction of his dream.
"I know," she said again. Somehow Mr. Eko had the sense that she knew exactly what he was referring to, though he himself might not.
"The Lord is my Shepherd," Eko began to say. He needed his faith to get him through this. He needed it to give him strength, so that he could return to the beach and help his friends.
"I shall not want. He leads me through green pastures," the girl began to chant with him, her brown eyes focused, dark brows knit together. When she concentrated like that, she reminded Mr. Eko of someone.
"Come," she said finally, when Mr. Eko had completed the psalm. He felt oddly drained, but peaceful. The pain in his stomach ebbed away. It was still bad, he knew that. He would still die, he knew that as well. But he would have the strength to finish what needed to be done. The girl reached out a hand, and he took it. He hadn't thought her slight frame would have the strength to pull him to his feet, but she did. Then, nonchalantly and as though it didn't cost her anything, she slung one of his massive arms over her slight shoulders, and began assisting him toward the beach.
"What is your name?" he asked her.
"Alex," she replied. "Alex Rousseau."
"What's that noise?" Kate asked curiously, twisting her head a little to hear better. Jack stopped as well, listening to the slight popping noise in the distance.
"I don't know," he said. "But you know what it sounds like?"
"Gunfire," Kate said decisively. They stared at each, fear and curiosity writ large across their features.
"Come on," Jack said, his voice rougher than he meant it to be. "We'd better hurry back."
A thousand questions whirled through his brain. What if they had seen him cross that line? What if, God forbid, they were attacking the beach? It would all be his fault.
They heard a crashing in the jungle to their left. They froze.
"What is it?" Kate whispered, her green eyes wide with fright. Michael twitched a bit beside them, and then fell still. "Jack. . .Jack. . ."
"I don't know," he said. "It's coming from the hatch."
He slowly lowered Jack to the ground, and reached into his pants to grab the gun. Kate crouched on the ground beside Michael, her hands scrabbling blindly over the forest floor in search of anything she could use as a weapon. A stick, a rock, anything.
"When I say the word, I want you to run, Kate," Jack said. She shook her head.
"No, Jack, I'm not going to leave you." He ignored her.
"When I say the word."
He took the safety off the gun, and held it straight in front of him.
The foliage parted.
His gun fired.
"We could rest," Ana-Lucia suggested. Sawyer grunted in front of her. She sighed. Stupid men, never willing to admit they were hurt. She was getting through her own pain all right. A bottle of tequila and a box of painkillers would do that. But she knew that Sawyer was in worse shape, that every step he took was slowly killing him.
His shirt was drenched in blood, and his pants were slowly darkening as well. She knew that it was pure stubbornness that kept him moving now. He grunted again, and shook his head, drops of sweat and blood flying from his face.
"We're almost there, now, cupcake," he said, and turned to smile back at her. She was thankful for his attempt at calming her, but it did more damage than good. He lost his balance turning, the stick dug a little too far into the ground, and his right leg came down a little harder than he'd meant. It crumpled, and he fell to the ground.
"Damn it!" he shouted, lifting himself just enough to spit out dirt. "Damn!"
Ana was on one knee beside him in an instant. "You need to rest," she insisted. He shook his head.
"You hear that?" he asked. She remained silent for a moment, trying to hear whatever he was pointing out. "That's gunshots, chica. They're at the beach. Which means everyone's gonna die if we don't get those guns. Capice?"
She nodded her head, and ducked under his arm, helping him to his feet. "All right then, no more stopping," Ana said. Sawyer nodded, let go of her, and continued on his lurching way.
Sawyer was in the lead when they arrived at the clearing. He was the one in front, pushing aside the underbrush. But he was in too much pain to be vigiliant. It was Ana who heard the voices ahead of them, and then the small, distinct click of a gun.
"Sawyer, stop—" she tried to warn him. But she was too late.
The sound of a gunshot broke the silence of the jungle.
