If being afraid is a crime, we hang side by side.
CRIMINAL.
CHAPTER 18.
Brandon Prescott.
San Francisco, California.
For once, it's entirely quiet. Just me, Blake, and the forest.
It feels like it should have felt from the beginning. No one else but us.
Unfortunately, that means there's no sign of wildlife or anything else to eat, either. Not that I'm exactly keen to nosh on fried squirrel for dinner, but my head is heavy with hunger. I'll take almost anything at this point.
My pack's weighed down with three full water bottles, mine and both the girls' back at camp. Blake's hanging onto his own. Really, we've had water for awhile, and we can gather wood closer to camp. But even though neither Blake nor I have brought it up, we just keep walking, further and further from where we started.
I don't know where we're supposed to end up, but I'm not yet ready to figure that out.
The hottest part of the day has come and gone. I can breathe more easily, and I'm starting to cool down as the sun slowly descends and a slight breeze picks up. I keep my eyes ahead of us, hoping for some sort of animal, but the forest is silent.
Then Blake speaks up.
"If we want to make it back before nighttime, we should probably head back soon."
If. If we want to make it back. I stop walking and we look at each other.
"I say we keep going. Just in case."
"And what if we don't find anything?"
There it is. The challenge. It's my call now. Not that I feel like the boss in this scenario— Blake and I are equals in this partnership. But I know he'd never be the one to suggest what I'm about to say.
"We're not going back."
He swallows, looking straight ahead. "I know. But..."
"You don't think it's the right idea?"
"It is. Just... we still have their waters."
I wish I could say this was the first time I'd realized that. But it's not.
I wish I could say I'd hesitated, thought carefully about what I was doing instead of just continuing forward. But I didn't.
"They know where the stream is," I say.
"They're going to be—"
"I know," I say, and then erase the thought from my mind before I start worrying about them.
Four days ago, I would have given my right nipple to have an outdoor sleepover with both Alaina and Eimer. Now I'm purposely ditching them, sabotaging them, even. How times have changed.
"They still know where we are," Blake points out. "You want to risk that?"
Oh, fuck. The trackers. Somehow, despite my obsession with watching everyone else's locations, I forgot it works both ways.
An idea forms in my head. Probably an idiotic one. But we're all already screwed, anyways. What's one more hardship?
"Do me a favor, and don't let anything happen to your watch, yeah?"
"What? Why?"
I look around. There's not much here besides trees and needles, but about thirty feet away there's a decent-sized chunk of rock. Blake follows me to it, narrowing his eyes when I take off my watch.
"You're not seriously—"
The watch shatters as I bring the rock down on its screen. Once, twice, three times. Twinkling grains of glass burst from the surface as the watch is beaten, bent, and finally completely broken.
He shakes his head and starts to say something, but he's cut off.
"Brandon Prescott is dead. Manner of death is unknown."
We stare at each other for a long second and then both burst out laughing.
"Well, that wasn't intentional."
"Nice going," he chuckles. "You killed yourself."
I snicker. "Finally. Hey, am I on the map?"
We peer over his watch. Where both our names appeared just minutes ago, his is now printed alone. "Perfect."
"Now what happens when someone comes and finds me and sees you right there?"
I smirk. "Just tell them they're seeing things. Everyone knows ghosts aren't real."
Madison Carell.
Foster, Rhode Island.
The lodge finally comes up before us in the evening haze.
It's still not much to look at. But compared to another night out in the woods, it's heaven.
How different life was the last time I was here. As shitty as things were, I wish I'd appreciated things more those first couple of nights, before paranoia started setting in. Before the real trouble began.
Who knows. Maybe I'll feel the same two days from now about tonight. Best to stop thinking so much and get to work.
"We've got the place to ourselves," I say to Audrey and Mariana as they come up behind me. "The only one nearby is Alex— he's somewhere out past the water. We'll keep an eye on him, but I think as long as we stay on this side of the lake we'll be alright."
"He killed Jackson," Mariana says. "Are we sure we're okay staying so close to him?"
She makes a valid point, but I can't help but be annoyed— after all her grumbling about her feet the whole way here, she still wants to second-guess our decision? "It'd be better if he weren't nearby, but this is our best chance right now for something to eat and some better shelter. Doesn't have to be long-term, but I'm ready to hunker down for the night."
Audrey nods silently. I've gotten the sense throughout the day that she doesn't much care what we do, as long as she doesn't have first watch tonight. The girl's been yawning since ten this morning.
We walk through the abandoned camp, everything feeling even more eerie as night begins to fall. I find myself compulsively checking my watch, but Alex is still beyond the lake. No one's going to jump out and surprise us. Still, I'm on edge.
Predictably, the cafeteria's locked. Audrey presses the handle down as hard as she can until she pulls her hands back, cursing from the pressure. I scope out the side of the building, looking for a window to get in. There's a small one that I could probably pry open if I could reach it, but it's too high up. The other windows are larger and closer to the ground, but they're much thicker.
The three of us look around for something solid and heavy to shatter one of the windows with. I get Mariana and Audrey to try helping me hoist a heavy stone over to the cafeteria, but even if Mariana weren't crying out that her fingers were hurting, it's too heavy for us.
I frown, knowing what our only option is. "Audrey, come lift me up. I'm going to see if I can pry open that window up there."
If she thinks it's goofy, she doesn't verbalize it. She stands under the window, not quite sure how to lift me.
"Just cup your hands together," I tell her. "I'm going to step into your hands and then you'll help push me up. Ready?"
She isn't. The second my foot contacts her hands, she lets go. "Sorry. You're heavier than I thought." She considers her words. "Not in a bad way. Just—"
"It's fine," I say, so beyond caring at this point. "Just keep still. I'll push off."
With a grunt, I lift up towards the window. She holds me up while I fiddle with the lock, which luckily has seen better days and easily loosens with some jostling. With the window open, I push myself up and in. "I'll go in and open the front door for you guys. Meet me over there."
Except when I hop down into a storage room, I'm stopped in my tracks by the shocking stench of the place. I pull my t-shirt over my nose, eyes moistening with the odor of rotting food. The fridges and freezers have been propped open, and the musty heat of the place hasn't been good to what's been left in there.
Inside the dining area, I let Audrey and Mariana in the front, and we open as many of the windows as we can to try to let the place air out.
"So gross," Audrey says. "They definitely did this on purpose."
Mariana says nothing, looking like she's afraid to even open her mouth in case the stench makes her puke.
"There's got to be something edible in here," I say, determined still to fight the gnawing hunger in my stomach. "We can go through what's here, toss out the bad stuff, and see what's left."
Both girls look hesitant— and who can blame them? It's gross— but we quickly get to work, trashing the meats and rotting fruits swarming with fruit flies in favor of the nonperishables and unspoiled food.
Even though no one moves closer to us on the map, I keep one eye on my watch, just in case.
The building's pretty secure. I have no reason not to feel safe. And yet, once we close up all the windows again, I know I'll feel even more stuck.
In the forest, we could move anywhere. Escape in any direction.
Here, there's only one way out. And though it's our best option to stay here, I can't help but feel trapped.
Freya Pritchard.
Fairbanks, Alaska.
Juliet's only getting worse.
Monica's been doing her best to wrap Juliet's leg, utilizing what little we have in terms of medical supplies. But as it turns out, basic first aid isn't suitable for a bullet wound to the leg at point-blank range.
As the adrenaline wears off, Juliet's also in more and more pain. She's doing her best to mask it, but she can't entirely quiet her whimpering.
I shiver to think of what she's going through. Not just from her wound, but from what she did to Wes. She shot him twice. She... killed him.
Why did we kill him?
They both said it was self-defense, necessary if we wanted to live. But I'm not kidding myself; there's no way I'm going to survive more than a few more days. It feels so wrong to have been a piece of an unnecessary murder. The only way I can justify it is by telling myself it was to help Juliet and Monica.
But they're not the ones I want to survive this. It's Jeremiah. It's always been Jeremiah.
"Freya!"
"What?"
"I called your name like three times."
"Sorry," I say, face reddening. "Guess I didn't hear you." Lost in thought, more like. I need to focus.
"Come help me over here."
I get up slowly, already afraid of what I'll see. But Juliet looks better... at least, the bleeding has slowed from earlier. She's still pale and sweating, though. She tries to smile as I come over, but it looks more like a wince.
"Sure wish they'd thought to give us some painkillers," she says, a bit too positively.
"They definitely thought of it," Monica grumbles. "Just decided to let us suffer."
I swallow, trying to muster up something nice to say. "You're... you're looking better, Jules. Can you stand?"
She and Monica share a look. I feel myself blushing again, ashamed. I volunteered to keep watch out of squeamishness, but clearly I've missed a lot between them, especially regarding Juliet's condition. "Sort of," she says, after a pause. "Hurts, though. A lot." She tries to chuckle, but it sounds more like a choke.
"Freya, you're not going to like this," Monica says. "But I need you to hold onto her. We're gonna try to get this bullet out of her leg."
"What? Why?"
"Don't want it to get infected," Juliet says, face grim.
"It's gonna hurt like hell," Monica says, "so I need you to help keep her still. Jules, you can use my sweatshirt."
"For what?"
"To bite down on. Here." She unrolls the empty sleeve and knots it. "Ready?"
"Sure," Juliet says, already gritting her teeth.
I hold Juliet's leg down, hands pressed into her shin, as Monica peels the bandage off her thigh. I shouldn't look. But I can't tear my eyes away from the wound. Deep and red-stained, it's small but horrific. Even the motion of removing the bandage makes blood start oozing from it again. I look away, bile rising in my throat.
That glimpse of blood is nothing compared to the sounds Juliet makes as soon as Monica starts on her leg. I want more than anything to cover my ears, but I can't, I'm holding her down. But she pushes against me, thrashing and screaming. Finally I let go.
"I'm sorry! I can't!"
"It's okay," Monica says. "Juliet, I'm sorry. I know it hurts. Let's wait a few minutes and we can try again."
Juliet is panting, tears squeezing out of her eyelids and dotting her cheeks. I'm crying, too. And it's so stupid, because I'm not the one injured. I shouldn't be crying, not when those two are having to be so much tougher.
No one says anything for a few minutes. There's Juliet's heavy breathing, my sniffling, and leaves crunching in the breeze. Eventually my tears stop and Juliet's breathing lightens.
The crunching gets louder.
Monica looks at me, eyes wide. "Freya— the watches."
"You told me to come over and help," I say, hushed.
She lunges for her bag, where she's stowed the weapons. I can hear her cursing under her breath as she rummages through it, tossing aside her sweatshirt and our other equipment. "Why the fuck did I put it at the bottom—"
Then I see him. He sees me.
Both our faces break into a smile at the same time.
"Freya!"
"Jeremiah!"
We run at each other and I nearly tackle him with the force of my hug. Then I'm crying again, making these horrible embarrassing noises into his shoulder, but I don't even care.
Jeremiah's here. He's here.
Eventually we pull away, still grinning like crazy people, me still sniffling a bit. Monica is much more relaxed to know it's Jeremiah; it's no question whether she can trust him. Even if he killed Dane. I still trust him wholeheartedly.
My smile slips off my face just as quickly as it came. Oh my god... he's killed someone, too.
"Are you okay?" I say as we head back to the others, quiet enough so that they can't hear it. It's a question just for him, an answer just for me.
He knows me better than anyone, knows what I'm referring to. He exhales, trying to keep positive for my sake. Just like he always has.
"I am now," he says, with a sad sort of smile.
"You sure?"
He hesitates, then shakes his head. "No. But don't worry about me." He smiles again as we come back to the girls, greeting them warmly, as if nothing happened.
My heart breaks all over again, just like that first night when the announcement came that he'd had to kill Dane. But as I look at Jeremiah now, weathered, bloodied, but still standing tall, I know I have to be stronger for him.
If for no other reason than to ensure he's the one who makes it out alive.
Yuto Ebisu.
Naha, Okinawa Prefecture, Japan.
Night's falling quickly. Too quickly. And colder than the last.
I can't tell if it's the breeze, the temperature, or just me. Every time I shiver, I wonder if it has more to do with my fear for Gwen, what's only coming closer and closer with every passing minute, every darkening hue in the night sky.
I wrap myself tighter in my sweatshirt and sink further into Gwen's body.
"If this didn't happen, where do you think we'd be?"
I sigh, relaxing my gaze up towards the sky. The stars are so much brighter here; I've never lived anywhere you can really see them at night.
"Yuto?"
"Probably fucking or popping something."
Even though I'm not looking at her, I can practically feel her eyes roll. "Be serious."
"I am serious. It's nighttime. We'd probably be just like this, high out of our minds, probably messing around like usual."
"And then..."
"And then, what?"
"What next? After graduation and everything?"
"I don't want to think about that," I say. Not only because it's never going to happen now, but because I don't have a good answer. This was only ever supposed to be a friends-with-benefits type of thing. Never anything else.
And yet...
"Okay," she concedes. "But maybe I do. Maybe I want to think about a world where maybe we don't just go our separate ways after all this."
I frown but indulge her. "You hated it here. You always wanted to go back to England for uni."
"I know. And you wanted to stay here. But we could have had... I don't know." She shifts under me, but I catch her quiet cry as she reminds herself of her splintered leg. "I could have flown over for breaks... come and seen you whenever you wanted."
"Even though it's a long flight?"
"I'd do it," she says, without hesitation. "Even if this hadn't happened, I always wanted more time with you."
I don't know what to say to that.
I know what I should say. I love her. I really do. I've loved her for longer than I realized and I'm kicking myself for never telling her.
But how am I supposed to say it now?
"Me, too," I say, then immediately wince at the shallowness of my words.
She sighs, the motion causing both our bodies to rise and fall. I can feel her starting to shiver and I wrap my arms around her, but she stiffens.
I swallow. "Gwen..."
When I look at her, her eyes are glistening with tears.
"Hey..."
I can barely hear what she says, it's in such a low whisper. "Yu... it's time."
"No," I say, my throat already catching on my words. "No, Gwen, not yet."
"I can't take another night like this," she says, in a tone that makes my heart crumble. "We can't... we can't save me."
She's right. I can't pretend she's going to outlive the rest of us. But... to do what she's asking me to do...
"I don't think I can," I choke out.
"I need you to," she says, the fire in her voice stronger than the tears in her eyes. "I don't want to know what the others could do to me. You..." She shakes her head. "I need you to."
"Gwen—"
"Please," she says. And when I see the pleading look in her eyes, shrouded behind swelling tears, I know I don't have a choice. I nod, because I can't speak. If I open my mouth, the sobs will start coming out. I need to be strong for her.
The pistol's propped against my bag, left out in case I needed to pick it up at short notice. I wish I'd buried it further.
Every second is so valuable, so precious. I can't believe I took any of them for granted.
I turn to face Gwen, the gun so heavy in my hand. How can I do this? I have to... but how?
Before I can say anything, she shifts, leaning forward and taking my face in her hands. Our last kiss is tender, gentle, unbearable. And not long enough. I don't think it ever could be.
She guides my hands to her temple, the barrel pressed to her forehead. I'm shaking with sobs, finally unable to hold them back. She presses a finger to my lips. "Hey. It's okay. It's okay."
My finger's soft on the trigger. Her eyes are on mine. There's so much light in them, even here, even in all this darkness. Why did I never see that?
I breathe in, then exhale, my body shuddering.
Gwen smiles softly and closes her eyes. "Don't look."
I squeeze my eyes shut.
I press my finger down.
The burst rings out through the forest and shrieks in my ears. I scream into the silence, into the empty, solitary night. Scream at what I did, what I couldn't do, all the words that died on my tongue. Everything I never said.
I don't look. I don't see her. My eyes squeezed shut, I bring the gun to my own head.
This time, pressing down is easy.
Swingin Party by Lorde.
18th: Gwen Chamberlain. Killed by Yuto Ebisu.
17th: Yuto Ebisu. Suicide.
This chapter's later than I wanted, but better late than never! It's also a bit shorter, but I'm happy with the way I've written it. I feel like I'm starting to come into my own more as a writer.
These two hurt. Truly. It also feels a bit strange to have them gone, as I've thought about this scene for years and it's surreal to actually have it written. 2016 me would be proud.
To Tyler—thank you for letting me use Gwen to make this plot happen. I'm forever grateful for your support, whether through Skype messages or reviews. I hope you loved Gwen as much as I did.
To Anna—thank you for sending me Yuto, for welcoming me into this community, and for connecting me with all these wonderful people I'm so lucky to know. I still remember where I was when we first started PMing about him and about this story. I kept sneaking away from dinner with my grandma to check my messages and it's one of my fondest memories of planning this story. I'm so glad I reached out!
Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Let me know your thoughts! Remember that black lives matter whether a hashtag is trending or not. Stay informed, continue educating yourself, and keep signing petitions and donating money where you can.
Stay safe, and I'll see you in the next one!