XXXII: Day Nine, Midnight.
Isperia Martorell, 16
Applicant #17
"So, what's the plan?" she asks dully.
Her brain is still moving at a sluggish half-speed, if that, chugging along aimlessly. Emmi's must be moving faster, or maybe that's just the speed of the truck tricking Ria's brain into thinking otherwise. Emmi seems to be thinking rather clearly if she's being honest, murder and all.
She did it so easy. Ria thinks about every minuscule detail, every second of screaming and blood, and Emmi just did it like it came easier than breathing.
If this was how most of the victors felt afterwards, then she feels even worse for them than she did before. And on top of all of that she hasn't even won.
She's not even sure winning is an option. It doesn't feel like it is.
"What plan?" Emmi responds finally, keeping her eyes focused ahead as they wind their way out of the mountains, towards the lights in the not-so distance.
She looks over at her. "You said..."
"I know what I said. I said I needed help, not that I had a plan. You just seemed like the type of person to respond to the idea of a plan better than me spewing bullshit."
"Was that... not what were you doing?"
Emmi laughs, but it sounds strained. "I do that a lot. I just needed you to come with me."
"For what?"
"To come up with a plan in the first place. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you were the one who worked at the traps a lot, right? With those stupid fake explosives and snares they had."
"Yeah."
"Good. 'Cause I have a lot of people I want to kill."
She blinks. "I don't... I don't think I want to kill the other three people."
"Never said that's what we were going to do."
Her fingers are digging into the worn leather of the chair as if she's been bracing for something all along - maybe that was it, finally. Her brain starts to come up with half a dozen options, every direction under the sun.
"The Sentinels?" she settles on finally, voice quiet.
"That would be ideal. Listen, I really don't want to die and I'm guessing you don't either. There were ten of them - Carnelia and nine others. I know at least two are dead already. If we could figure something out, maybe rig something up, then we could get out of here. Even if we don't kill them all we could distract them long enough to get to a border, get some damn help."
"You really think that's possible?"
"I have no idea if that's possible. It just seems pretty likely that we're going to die if we continue what we're doing, so even if it goes south..."
"It's no different," she finishes. "I made a bomb. It worked. Killed a lot of people, I think."
"You think?"
"I didn't stick around to find out."
"Fair enough. So you could do it again, then?"
She could answer yes right away without so much as a second thought, because chances are she could, but it's not that simple. All of the supplies she used to build the first bomb are depleted or non-existent, not to mention the fact that Tarquin had to die from the proximity of it, the fire and the imminent collapse of the tunnel.
No, if they both want to survive, and better yet get the other three to survive as well, then they need something bigger. Better.
More survivable, at least for them.
"Would you be willing to give up the car?"
Emmi gives her a pointed look. "You've got one shoe on and you want to walk to the border? I know it's only a few miles away, but really?"
She never did find the shoe she wedged off of her swollen ankle. Who knows where it ended up. She's still in pain, but she'd rather walk on it and take her chances than risk her life on one gamble.
"If we could find another car..."
"Well, we're headed towards this town. Could be one there."
"Okay. A fire would be a good way to get their attention, get them all in one place? I've got matches."
"Sounds like a plan to me," Emmi says, and for the first time in a long time Ria feels even an ounce of relief wash over her. "And then what? We use a car to...?"
"Find some rope or some cord, attach it to the fuel tank. Light the rope. Park our car a ways away. We'll still have to be pretty close to it to lure them in. Unless..."
"Unless what?" Emmi asks. The car slows - she hasn't dared to slow it down so far.
Maybe they're starting to come to an understanding.
"I could get your bracelet off, maybe. We could leave it in the new car. When I got mine off the screen still worked, so I guess the tracking would too."
"Too damn smart," Emmi mutters. "I feel like you don't get much credit for it."
She didn't much, not before she was here. People in Three are just inherently smart, fitting the stereotype to a perfect tee. No one notices it because it's commonplace - it's the stupid things that get called out and put on bulletin boards, the people that can't quite make it who are marked for something.
Mel said it, Meris said it.
Emmi said it now.
People here care, suddenly. No one really has before.
It does feel sort of nice. Nicer than she expected.
"Alright, so we're doing this then?" Emmi asks. "We'll get into town, find another car, set up shop when we find somewhere we like. You'll get this damn bracelet off, we'll lure some assholes in, and then we'll blow the place up?"
"And then we find the others," she reminds her, quietly.
"And then we find the others," Emmi repeats. "If we pull this off, we'll be fucking heroes."
Her lips actually hurt when she smiles. They're so dry and cracked it's a miracle they're not bleeding. She has Tarquin to thank for that really, for keeping her alive. So now she has to do this, but not just for him. For everyone that she lost, everyone else that's gone too.
It's like Emmi said - they're probably going to die anyway.
There's no harm that can be done that hasn't been already.
Icarus Devereux, 17
Applicant #10
Percy takes off.
Predictably, Soran slams his foot down on the gas so quickly that if Icarus wasn't prepared he would have went flying out the windshield.
But he was. Soran is turning out to be predictable in the weirdest ways.
"You're not going to be able to hit him!" he forces out. Percy dives off the road and into the narrow gap between two buildings, and Soran turns the corner next to the larger of the two.
"Have a little faith."
"I'd prefer to not have Percy splattered on the windshield for the rest of our days!"
God, even imagining that... nope, he's good. Why did he do that?
"Then take this," Soran insists. He pops the door open. There's a sudden rush of wind and Icarus lunges across the middle console to take a hold of the wheel as Soran lets go of it, jumping out of the car in a move that no doubt can't be good for his current physical state. The car rolls to a stop a few seconds later, narrowly missing the side of one of the buildings as he steers it back into the middle of the street.
He nearly trips over himself in his haste to get out of the car. Judging by the sounds he can hear but not see the source of Soran has caught up to Percy, which isn't surprising.
It is worrying, though. He knew exactly what would happen if he pointed out what direction they were supposed to go - he was even in support of it, if it meant getting closer to finishing all of this. It's different when it's staring you in the face, when it's Percy of all people. He should've known it would come down to the two of them, the people who argued the most, who would have been called the most annoying.
When he rounds the corner the two of them are on the ground together. Percy appears to be trying to wiggle away from Soran's grip on his knees, the two of them looking nothing more than like two worms struggling their way out of the dirt.
It doesn't remain that way for long. Soran hooks an arm around his throat and wiggles around until he's all but sitting on top of him, pinning Percy to the dirt.
He looks up. "You know, I didn't think to grab a weapon before I jumped out."
Typical. He strides forward and offers the knife from his belt, the one that he doesn't even feel right carrying.
"C'mon," Percy wheezes. "You're not even going to give me a chance? I'll take like, a three second head start."
He's not counting the Sentinel, really, which means the last person he actually killed was Trojan, when he was lost to the heat and disoriented, fearing for his own life. He doesn't feel that way right now. Percy looks done for already.
It's different, this time, but there's nothing in his brain that says let him go.
Maybe he's just always been a terrible person. It would certainly explain a lot.
Soran's hand brushes against his, takes the knife. Percy struggles, throws his arms and elbows back until it connects with something. Soran doesn't budge until a stray elbow connects with his side, and his grip loosens a little bit. Icarus realizes it, though, recognizes the weakness for what it is, and grabs one of Percy's flailing arms before he can get any further.
He's really trying to ignore that there's no hand attached to his wrist.
"You're making it worse," he points out, but Percy's struggles don't lessen. Soran's clearly in pain - he can see it in his eyes, but his arm is still looped around Percy's throat, holding tight.
Once again, nothing changes.
This is the first time he feels like a murderer, really, even though the knife isn't in his hands. He's helping keep him still, crouches down beside the two of them to freeze Percy in place.
He jerks; Icarus can't see where Soran's put the knife, although judging by how little he can see it's between the two of them, somewhere in his back. His arm goes limp underneath Icarus' hand, mouth parting in silent agony, a few quiet, awful noises slipping out when Soran pulls the knife out.
He flops down between the two of them. Icarus is left the last one holding on when Soran lets him go, and he very slowly pulls his own hand back. There's not even that much blood, really. Unfortunately he's stuck looking at his face, at his deep, shuddering breath, the glare of his eyes. They don't close no matter how much he wishes he would, and he can't reach out to close them himself.
Soran's hand closes around his own side, fingers pressing in as if to lessen the pain.
It seems like that would do the opposite.
"You alright?" he asks. Soran sort of nods, flopping back in the dirt. It's weird seeing him lay alongside a body, nearly in the same position.
It makes him remember why they're doing this, really. So he hopefully doesn't have to see him dead.
It takes a minute to gather the ambition, but he hauls himself to his feet, reaching out for the wall of the building as support. "Stay here."
Soran waves aimlessly after him, unresponsive. Probably trying to get his breath back. Icarus can't even begin to imagine the mess that his side really is underneath all the injuries if he's always in this much pain.
They really shouldn't sit here. Desperate or not Percy probably was telling the truth about a Sentinel being around here, somewhere. He doesn't seem like the type to lie about something like that. If they are going to catch their breath though they should at least have the weapons. Those would probably help if something else were going to go down. A knife isn't going to do much.
He turns the corner headed back towards the car and someone is leaning up against it next to his wide open door, lounging about examining their filthy fingers.
There's only two people left other than him and Soran, and this person is decidedly not either of them.
He knew Percy wasn't a liar.
Suddenly he completely understands what Soran must have been feeling, alone, confronting a Sentinel face to face. Sure, Soran is just behind him, but the terror is strong. It's all he can feel.
The man is holding a knife. He doesn't even look when he throws it.
Icarus dives out of the way. And it's true, a knife really can't do that much.
Or at least it can't when it's outside of you, but this particular one hits him square in the thigh and sinks all the way in.
Then, all of a sudden, it's doing a hell of a lot.
Soran Faerber, 18
Applicant #8
There's a not so distant shout.
It's right in front of him, actually.
He rolls to his feet without bracing himself for the onslaught of pain. It shoots all the way through his chest like good old times, but he pays it little mind as he half-hobbles half jogs towards the source of the sound.
That was a distinctly Icarus like noise. He's not sure how he knows that without ever hearing anything like that. It's practically instinctive.
Icarus practically slams into him as the two of them meet at the corner, grabbing at his chest to push him backwards.
"Not that way!" he manages, tripping over himself. "Definitely not that way!"
Soran blinks, and then looks down.
There's a knife sticking out of his thigh.
Well, that would certainly explain it.
Soran grabs his arm and all but hurls him back into the narrow alley but stays exactly where he is. The man pinning them down in here, away from the car, has knives. Multiple sets of them. There's a lot more than just the long, thin one in Icarus' thigh, way too many to dodge even on a good day. It really hasn't been a good day thus far.
He has one knife, still wet with Percy's blood. One knife isn't going to be enough.
"Alright, stay here," he orders, ignoring Icarus' frantic response before he sprints around the corner as fast as he can.
He's got about two seconds.
A knife whistles past his head - he doesn't even make out the man himself, just a blur of black and gray as he dives past and around him for the open car door, grabbing onto the frame to haul himself inside. With one hand he reaches for the sword, abandoned on the floor, ignoring the blade as it cuts into his palm, and he fumbles for the gun in the center console with the other.
He only just grabs it when the man rips him back out of the car, the tip of a knife digging into the back of his shoulder, face and shoulder slamming into the dash before he goes. It takes everything to keep his feet under himself as he's thrown away - the gun slips through his fingers somewhere in the middle of it, landing somewhere he only knows as in the vicinity. He still has the sword, though, and as soon as he's free he turns the sword back on him. His fingers aren't nearly as steady as he'd like them to be.
He's smaller than the other guy, more blank-faced. Knife in each hand, no big deal. Soran's got a longer reach with the sword.
The gun has rolled up against the side of the building. Much too far for him to reach.
It was worth a shot.
"Not much of a talker," he observes. If he hadn't put a knife in Icarus already, nearly thrown him across the alley, he'd have thought the man was a knife-wielding statue.
There's a flicker somewhere to his left but he keeps his eyes facing resolutely forward, the sword pointed towards his heart.
"The other one talked more," he says. "Y'know, before we killed him."
Despite what Soran thought, there isn't even a change in the man's eyes. Maybe they care for each other less than he thought; maybe their true allegiances lie to no one and nothing, like his once did.
Another flicker. He sees Icarus round the car from behind, ducking behind the back window. Just another second or two, and then he's got it.
"I think you'll be easier," he says, because it's true.
Because he's not starting off alone, this time.
One of the knives disappears from the driver's side door. Icarus rounds the car, nearly silent save for the stilted limp, and then launches himself onto the man's back.
Soran expected him to, y'know, just stab him, but that's not terrible either.
The knife in Icarus' hand misses the man's throat and slices across the line of his jaw, all the way to his ear. He howls in pain, and Soran launches himself forward with the sword, nearly crashing into both of them. The sword cuts into the other side of his face, gets shoved back by his arm when he throws it up to protect the important bits. His neck. His chest.
He rears back, slamming into the car, crushing Icarus against it. The knife has to be in his leg to the hilt now, if it wasn't already. Soran swings again, connecting with the thin flesh of his forearms. Different person entirely, but it feels like payback for his own arms, somehow.
"Head down!" he yells. "Or just let go!"
Icarus does, miraculously, listening as if it's the first time he's ever done it. He lets go and topples to the ground, dragging the man down and back a few paces before he falls. Soran watches him stumble, waits until his arms flail to catch himself up against the car, and then plunges the sword into his stomach.
It burst free from his back, splatters blood all over Icarus' face and scrapes against the side of the car with a horrifying screech, metal against metal. He leaves it there, lets go to grab him and pull him away, all but shoving him to the ground so that he doesn't fall where Icarus is just sort of sitting on the ground, wide-eyed. After a minute he flops back, making some sort of god-awful noise.
"Well, safe to say that went better than last time."
There's a thud from behind them. Fallen body.
The noises coming out of Icarus' mouth may as well be the same to an already-dead zombie, ambling around and moaning, looking for some brains to munch on. He doesn't think he should say that.
Icarus presses his fingers against the knife and nearly screeches. "How much time do you think I have left?"
"You're not serious."
"I'm very serious."
"Ten."
"Ten what?"
"Nine," he continues. "Eight—"
Icarus groans and throws his head back into the ground. "It hurts, fuck you."
"You have a knife in your fucking leg, what did you expect?" he asks, crouching down to swat his hands away. "Stop touching it, you're making it worse."
"How could I possibly be making it worse?"
"You make everything worse," he grumbles, because he's not sure what else to say. It's not bleeding a dangerous amount, so he definitely feels confident in saying that their experience this time wasn't nearly as bad as it could've been.
"I had one in my side," he continues. "How do you think I felt?"
"I saw how you felt!" Icarus insists. "And you look like you felt pretty terrible!"
He still does, but it's a numb sort of pain now. Nothing hurts nearly as bad as before. Icarus saw first-hand just how bad he was in the immediate aftermath of it all, can see how he's still suffering for it days later.
It appears they're suffering together, now.
Icarus reaches up and pokes him in the cheek, which hurts about as much as you'd expect. "You're bleeding."
"When am I not?" He reaches up to wipe some of the blood away from his mouth, the bit that's dribbled down his chin. He must've bit down on something when his head hit the dash. It's not that bad. He's gotten used to the taste of blood the past while, bleeding in general.
It's worth it because he's alive, and there's not much else to it.
"We're still alive," he says aloud. Icarus doesn't smile, but he didn't expect him to.
"Yay," Icarus deadpans. "Now cut my leg off, please."
He sighs.
At least the dramatics are something familiar.
Emmi Langlois, 17
Applicant #13
"You hear that?" she asks.
She had just cranked the window down a minute or two ago as they reached the town's edge. She had heard something, that's for sure, but couldn't put her finger on it exactly. It had just sounded human.
Ria nods, eyes comically large, blinking owlishly as if the more she does it the quicker the source of the sound will appear.
"When you figure out how to reverse the tracking so we can find other people, let me know," she says. "That would make this a whole lot easier."
The town isn't very big, is the thing, but one or two people could be hiding anywhere. Inside, outside, down in a basement they don't even know exists, a lone intact rooftop. Ria looks at her bracelet as if that alone will allow it to become true, but she presses her lips together until they're white, an uneasy clench to her jaw.
"It says four, now."
Emmi twists her arm to confirm, staring at the small little four tacked into the corner of the bracelet.
So much for five.
"Well, that's great. They have to be manually updating it or something. You shouldn't even be on there," she says flatly. "Think they're here?"
"That would be awfully convenient."
"Good. I'm all for convenience right now. We've been through enough, haven't we?"
She knows she has, but Ria won't tell her much. It's just what she can see, and that alone looks terrible enough. All of that coupled with the faraway look in her eyes that definitely wasn't there before... it all adds up to needing an easy, clean break.
This could be it. You know, if they actually find whoever's here. At least one person, who most likely just murdered number five.
"Keep your eyes peeled," she instructs.
"They probably just killed someone."
It's not judgmental, per say. Neither of them have any right to judge. Ria let one person burn to death. She shot someone. They've both done other things just as bad, she knows. It sounds more nervous than anything.
"We'll take it slow," she reassures. "I'd just rather us see them before they see us."
That way they can get a jump on the situation, assess it before they make a mistake and end up dead themselves. Wouldn't that be an end to their half-baked plan, dead before it even began. It would be fitting, at least. No breaks cut for them after all.
They drive through the broken down neighborhood for quite a while, cutting paths through roads that don't even look like roads anymore. It doesn't even look like an inhabitable place, really. Maybe it was just sort of a tourist town way back when. Most of the buildings are small, some adorned with little wrap-around porches riddled with multiple holes. Storefronts, maybe, except there are no signs to indicate it. Around and around they circle, looking for any sign of something that doesn't belong, a person or a car in an otherwise dead place.
"Look down there," Ria says quietly. There's a car idling in the middle of an intersection, lights still on and cutting a path to the next road over. There's no one around it, though, no signs of life.
"There's another one on the next block," Ria points out. Emmi carefully turns down the road, though the truck is chugging loudly enough that anyone within the next mile would be able to hear it. There's no being subtle here. There won't be any element of surprise from their end.
"Is that someone behind it?"
"I think so. I can't tell if it's only one."
Neither can she, really, no matter how hard she squints. It looks like there's a shadow of a person in the gap between the car's bed and the ground, as if they're sitting down or laying in the dirt. There might be another person there too but she can't tell. They're not moving much, just occasional little twitches. Not enough to be two distinctive people, but appearances are deceiving.
"So..."
She gets out of the car. Ria's voice cuts off quickly at that, and when Emmi looks back she's clamped her mouth shut, watching uneasily as Emmi steps out into the road. They're maybe fifty feet away. Hopefully that's enough distance.
"I know you've heard us already, so I've got nothing to lose!" she shouts. "And I'm assuming you just killed someone, so I don't want to get to close. But I want you to hear me out."
She hears the shuffling long before anything else. A hand creeps over the car's hood and then Soran's head pops up, just the tops of his shoulders visible.
"Why would you think that?" he asks, a very terribly bloody smile on his face.
She should've expected someone like him, honestly.
"Well, you came in first after you shot Kidava in the face, so..."
"Killed her in real life, too." He shrugs. "Doesn't mean anything."
Beside her Ria blanches. She would too if she hadn't killed four people herself. It really is four, too. She hadn't even realized until now. Arwen counts whether she wants her to or not, because something needs to haunt her. Something always does.
"Are you alone?" she asks.
"What's it to you?"
"Well, I want to live."
"And I don't?" he asks. "I'm pretty sure she wants to live too, but she's not talking."
Ria looks like she wants to dig a hole and die in it the second Soran looks in her direction, so maybe that's not entirely the truth. She hasn't even moved to follow Emmi out, not that she wants or expects her to. Soran could probably flatten her even though he looks pretty terrible himself. It definitely looks like he's been throttled recently, but then again he probably deserved it.
Awful thinking, but it's true.
"I want us all to live. All four of us. I was thinking five sounded good, but I'm pretty sure you killed whoever that was."
"You would be correct. So you want the four of us to live - what's your deal?"
"She thinks she can rig up some sort of explosion to kill the Sentinels, if we can draw them all in close enough," she says, nodding back at Ria, who sinks a few inches lower in her seat. Any more and she'll disappear altogether.
"And then what?"
"We go and get some help?" she says obviously. "Find the fourth person, and—"
"He's right here."
"What?"
"He's right here," Soran repeats. "Laying on the ground and quite disgruntled if I do say so myself, but he won't let me take the knife out of his leg so maybe you'll have more luck convincing him."
She blinks. Was that... agreement, or Soran screwing with her? There's the possibility of both, no doubt about it. She still can't even tell that there's two of them back there and won't have any way to tell unless she goes over there.
Oh well. Guess she is.
Ria finally scrambles out of the car when Emmi crosses the road and makes her way over. She should be cautious, which would be the logical thing to do, but she's thrown that out of the window. Hell, she did that a long time ago. Soran's disappeared now as well, presumably back on the ground with whoever else is laying back there, as long as he's telling the truth.
She rounds the car and stops, taking in all the sights. It's more than she expected. There's a very dead body judging by the gaping whole in his chest. Definitely a Sentinel. It's a surprise, honestly, but a welcome one. That's terrible too but she really doesn't care.
"Do not touch me, just let me die in peace," Icarus snaps, looking up at her. "I swear to God."
She stares at the knife sticking out of his leg. "If you're dying from that then I'm dead already."
"Join the fucking club," Soran mutters. She continues looking around, searching out whoever the two of them must have just killed, but can't spot them anywhere. That's for the best, really. She's not sure she wants to know.
She gets where Soran's going with this, though. Ria inches her way up behind them and then turns right back around at the sight of the knife, looking off the other way.
She nudges Icarus in the shoulder with the tip of her shoe, and he reaches back wildly to hit her, missing spectacularly.
"Seriously," she says flatly. "Get over it."
"Get over it!" he cries. "I have a fucking—"
Soran grabs the hilt and pulls the whole thing out in one swift movement, reaching up with his other hand to clamp it over Icarus' mouth before the choked scream can escape. She still hears it but it's muffled in the very least.
"Is it out?" Ria asks.
"Yeah."
Soran removes both hands and tosses the knife into the dirt alongside them. Icarus goes from screaming to a whole chorus of swearing, spewing profanities that she hasn't even heard before. At this point he must be making up words just for the sake of it. He probably just likes the sound of his own voice, the same way Winnie did except infinitely more annoying.
She'll take annoying, though. This is the four of them. It's a very odd four.
But it's what they've got.
"So, details," Soran says. "In the next like, five minutes or I'll change my mind and start killing someone."
"Very forthcoming of you," she says. "But don't look at me."
Ria has finally turned around although is pointedly looking over all of them, towards some point in the distance. There's really not that much blood but it appears that even the slightest amount isn't ideal for her. All of the color drains from her face once again when Emmi looks back at her, and then both Soran and Icarus in turn. For all of her obvious issues with blood there's certainly a lack of it in her face when all of them look at her.
Emmi really can't imagine this going well, but like she said, it's all they've got.
They might as well start now.
Leave it to me to try and pull some last minute bullshit that definitely can't go wrong whatsoever, am I right?
Guess you'll have to wait until next week to find out.
Until next time.