Chapter Two:
Monster
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"You're off the edge of the map, mate. Here there be monsters."
-Captain Hector Barbossa, "Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl"
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The storm came rolling in, almost without warning. Or it would have, if the woman hadn't warned him of it earlier at the very least. When Allen had stepped outside to get some fresh air and to clear his head, the sky had been perfectly clear one moment, and then it was a caustic tempest the next. He ducked back inside just as the rain came pelting down without mercy. It pounded away against the impromptu metal wall that blocked the cave entrance, demanding entrance. He stared at the wall for a long time, almost certain that it would cave in, especially when the wind howled and screamed its way through the miniature canyon he and the woman had to traverse to get here.
The woman was finishing with cleaning things up when he came back inside. She nodded her head toward another passage.
"This way. You can use the guest room."
The guest room wasn't luxurious but it would do for a short spell, he reasoned. There was an actual mattress and bedframe, at least and it was dry. There were all sorts of blankets in a woven basket in the corner. A small dresser sat beside it, laden with a few candles, a wash bowl, and another mirror.
"Extra clothes, if you need any. Extra blankets, too. Holler if you need anything."
"Um…bathroom?"
"The cave with the water pools; there's a bucket in there. Sorry I can't do anything better. Kind of hard to get modern day plumbing in this place. Just…make sure you take it out and bury any solid waste. I'll show you the cleanup kit later on."
He nodded his thanks to her, mumbling that he'd call if he needed anything else. He tried calling for the Ark again, hoping the first failed attempt had been a fluke. Maybe he could get a gate summoned, get himself and the woman off the island, get them as far away as they could get from Yamatai.
But there was nothing but a yawning emptiness where he once felt the Ark's presence. When he glanced into the mirror across the way sitting on the dresser, he scowled at the smiling, featureless figure in the background behind him. He knew they weren't physically there, not really, but it was still unnerving at times. He ignored the grinning figure, and turned to the mattress instead. It was clean, for what it was worth, or as clean as things could get on a hostile island where it seemed scavenging was a norm.
Allen covered the bed with a large, soft blanket, and after stripping of his boots and coat, he laid down, suddenly exhausted. He was asleep before a minute had passed that he'd been laying in the bed.
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It was freezing when he awoke. The candles had burned out and it was dark. Beyond the curtain that gave the feeble illusion of privacy, he could see the faint glow of light. Carefully, he sat up, feeling sore and stiff and tired. He wondered what time it is, and realized that it was most likely past the usual time he awoke for his morning exercise rituals. He awoke more quickly when his bare feet hit the stone floor and a jolt of ice shot up his leg like a bolt of lightning. He hurriedly shoved his socks and boots on, but left his coat.
He was grateful it was warmer in the main chamber, but he immediately forgot about the comfort when he stepped outside. He stopped shortly after exiting his room when he saw the woman sitting beside the campfire, surrounded by a gaggle of Clover-clones. Most, if not all, looked his way and watched him with wary golden avian eyes, bared teeth, and ruffled feathers slowly puffing up along their heads, necks and bodies. Some had crests and others didn't, but all raised up high enough to give them a bigger appearance well enough.
Allen was so busy staring at the raptors, that he almost missed the state of his host. It was only when she clucked her tongue at them that they settled and most turned their eyes away from him so quickly, it was like he didn't exist. With that noise, his attention was drawn back to the woman and he stiffened at the sight of her.
She was covered in blood and grime, her clothing either slashed or filled with holes. Her focus was on the campfire and she had her hand stuck inside it as she rearranged the logs and added a few new ones to stoke it. He stared, flabbergasted at the sight. Allen gave a cursory look around the place, worried that he had slept through an assault, but there was nothing to suggest some nasty battle in the cave.
He ventured closer, both wary of her feathered dinosaur companions as well as the aloof look on her face. It was as though she wasn't quite there or she hadn't registered there was someone else in the room with her yet.
Allen saw she was more focused on cooking. There was a huge pot that was suspended on a hook over the spit they had used last night for the deer. She stood, removing her hand from the fire and the embers below and picked up a ladle to stir the contents within. They smelled heavenly and his initial shock was momentarily forgotten at the scent that stirred up his hunger once more. He could smell onions and garlic and potatoes, a hint of mushrooms and the hearty scent of meat, along with the herbs and spices she must have used to give it extra flavour. It easily overpowered the lingering scent of smoke that seemed a constant in this chamber.
But another look at her face, at her physical state, and he was back to worrying.
"What happened to you?"
When she looked up at him and blinked owlishly, it was as though she was having trouble remembering who he was, and why he was there. It was nearly a minute before she answered.
"I took out the Solarii stronghold, as well as pockets of their patrols throughout the island. Then I destroyed the Sun Queen and the Oni that guarded the monastery where she was held. The storms should be gone and we can get you off the island unmolested now. After I fix the boat, that is."
Sun Queen? She's mentioned that before, he was certain of it.
The question must have shown on his face, because she sighed and sat back down on her log.
"The Sun Queen, Himiko…she's the reason this island is plagued by storms all the time. Why the Solarii can't leave and therefore resort to their methods. They worship Himiko through their violence, like some pagan god. It's why they kill men who resist, recruit those who don't into their folds, and why they burn women alive and then string up their remains and pray before them."
Allen's stomach churned as the woman spoke and the sudden image of his friends suffering such a fate if they ever came here—or any other person, for that matter. God, this place was an insane hellhole. Why would anyone live like this? How could they live with that kind of guilt? It was…it was…
He couldn't even find the right emotion for it. It all seemed to blend together into a raw, aching ball of disgust, fury, pity, indignation and so much more. He was drawn out of his thoughts, even as questions began lining up at the forefront of his mind, ready to be fired off, when the woman started speaking up again.
"Once upon a time, there was a woman who ruled all of Japan from this little island. Her name was Himiko. She was known as the first and last Sun Queen. She was beautiful and enigmatic and incredibly powerful, with a secret power that kept her people both happy and afraid of her and even had them worshipping her like a goddess. Her Stormguard were the only men to serve her. Otherwise, she was attended to by women only. And of those women, she'd choose a successor among them as she grew older. This chosen successor would want for nothing in her life from that moment on, and that priestess and her family would rise to the top of Yamatai society."
The woman paused, stirring the concoction in the pot again. When she removed the ladle, she began speaking again. Allen forgot about the food, and for once, ignored the tantalizing scent that wafted about in the cave. He was more fascinated in the narrative the woman was weaving for him.
"Her secret power came twofold. One, she could control the very elements. She could manifest raging tempests to blow her enemies out of the water or could will the sea to becalm itself and give allies and her people alike safe passage, as well as good crops with perfect weather and peaceful living conditions. Two…she wasn't always the same woman and yet she was never a new one, either. While she did have successors, they were never that same person once she passed on her power to them. She could transfer her immortal soul into mortal vessels and continue her reign endlessly. Her soul destroyed the other, once she transferred over, making her live up to her title of "the first and last". No one but her general knew this secret and they guarded it jealously, even from her own people. But during her rule, a priestess chosen to be her successor, her next vessel, found out about the ceremony's transaction and in her horror, took her own life during the soul-transfer ceremony."
The pole with the pot was picked up and gently moved away from the fire. Once arranged away from the heat of the fire, the woman picked up two bowls and ladled sizeable portions into them.
"The general, in his grief at failing his sacred mission to protect the Sun Queen, committed seppuku, but not before obligating his Stormguard to protecting Himiko's body. Her immortal soul is now trapped within a rotting mortal body and her rage has been striking down any and all vessels that come close to Yamatai. This island is now a graveyard, for both the ships that crash upon the shores as well as the people that somehow make it alive to the island proper. They don't last long, however. Her Stormguard are now known as the Oni, the monstrous samurai warriors that have lived for thousands of years, fulfilling their duties of protecting her body and killing all who step foot on the island."
She offered him a bowl and he took it without realizing. The fragrance from its contents barely stirred his earlier ravenous appetite. He barely noticed it, so intent he was on hearing out the woman as she spoke of this intrinsic tale.
"The Solarii are the first large group in recorded history that I've found that has survived against the Oni and for so long. There have been soldiers from various nations that landed on the island from time to time, but they never lasted very long. So long as they don't get too close to the monastery, however, the Oni won't actively hunt the Solarii. They've learned to bide their time."
"And you've survived well enough on your own."
The woman nodded. "If I were human, I probably wouldn't have lasted this long. But being what I am, I have a rather distinct, and sometimes unfair, advantage against the Solarii. I can survive quite a lot, including falling off long drops, and going without food or water or sleep if need be for much longer periods of time. I heal much faster, as you've seen. I am many times stronger and sturdier, despite how I look, than the average human. I also live longer with little consequence. I can hear and see and smell farther and better as well."
She inhaled deeply, looking into the dish she had made, steam rising up to greet her. For a long moment, she remained silent and contemplative, as though forming her next words with care. At last, she said, "But even with all that, I can still die. Probably. I know I could bleed out if I get enough holes in me. I know I can lose limbs, if I'm not careful. I'm not really immortal, just long lived. I can get hurt and I do, often. I don't like it, but sometimes I have to endure a little pain to get results. And I use it to my advantage to help any who end up on Yamatai, much like yourself. It's a shitty job, but someone has to do it. Might as well be me."
She ended there. He didn't realize it until he saw that she was staring at him very intently, no longer interested in the contents of her bowl. The orange glow of the fire close by made her mismatched eyes seem to glow and flicker with a hidden intensity. She wasn't just studying him, he suddenly realized. She was waiting for him to respond. It took him a very long minute for that revelation to dawn upon him and he felt justifiably foolish for not having figured it out much sooner.
"I...didn't realize how much there was to this place. But…why is it that you can't leave? And why is it just you doing this?"
The questions poured out without him thinking, and again, he realized the futility in asking too late. He had more questions certainly, but they had lodged themselves in his throat. The woman kept her gaze pinned on him as she considered her answers…if she even considered answering him, that was.
After a time, she squared her shoulders a little more and they lifted into a listless shrug as she looked away.
"Don't know. And at this point, I honestly can't say I care all that much anymore. I'm too damned old to give a damn."
When she looked back at him, he could almost see her age and agree. She still had the same eyes that had seen too much in too little time, but that time had added up and left its mark on her. It was difficult to get past her youthful appearance, however. It just didn't match up.
"All that matters is that I get you down to the beach, safe and sound. There's still pockets of Solarii around the island—those who have gone radio dark and don't realize what's going on. They probably don't even know Mathias is dead, and most of their people are too, or that Himiko and the Oni have been dispatched as well. Even if they did, they're more likely prone to attacking, especially if they see me fixing the boat and getting it fired up. It's one of the few that has a salvageable engine, and I'm the only person on this goddamned wet rock who can get it working again."
"Have you offered to let them leave?"
"And what, let them loose on polite society?" She snorted, and it was an ugly sound. The raptors repeated the noise, startling Allen enough that he jumped in his seat. He had forgotten all about the creatures. They had skulked away from sight, just beyond the fringes of the campfire's glow and into the shadows where they could watch. He looked all around and saw vague shapes that alluded to their presence, and more importantly, the glitter of their eyes reflecting the firelight. Their sudden silence only disturbed him all the more. When he returned his attention back to the woman, she was scooping more food from the pot into her bowl. He glanced down at his own and was surprised to see his bowl empty as well and couldn't recall having eaten any of it, but he was still hungry. He passed his over to her.
"Letting the Solarii get off Yamatai would be a mistake. They couldn't be rehabilitated even by the best and the brightest out in the real world; they've done too many vile things that can't be ignored or excused or pardoned. Some of the shit they've done would be considered war crimes."
"And your actions are nobler and worth overlooking if you ever got off, is that it?"
He hadn't meant to sound so spiteful, yet it had come out as such. How callous could one get, to forgo helping the men who were supposedly forced into killing against their will? It sounded a bit hypocritical of her, in lieu of her earlier arguments from last night. The woman paused in her ministrations, ladle resting in his bowl as she regarded him. Her lips upturned into a crooked smile.
"No. No, I don't believe I deserve redemption any more than they do. I've done my share of bad things. Although straight up murdering innocent people—children, even—and rape as an afterthought, haven't even found their way onto my list of offenses. Even evil has standards."
"So you think you're evil."
"I've done bad things. To survive, to save people, to keep them safe. Just because my intentions were good, doesn't mean my actions reflect as such. Anyone could argue with that as a defense and I wouldn't correct them. One could argue so far as to say I'm evil, despite my intentions. I made my choices. I continue to. I could have chosen to let the Solarii capture you or allowed them to kill you where they found you. I could have looted your corpse afterwards and left your body for the wolves or the Compies to scavenge off of without so much as an attempt to bury you. I could have done a lot of things. I chose to help you. But my actions meant I had to kill the Solarii to save you. Either way, someone's blood got spilled. Do you regret my saving you?"
Her eyes held the same predatory glimmer as her raptors that watched them both so intently. He resisted the urge to squirm under their gazes. He also wanted to squirm at the dilemma she presented. It was true what she said: it was either let the Solarii kill him (or attempt to at least) or kill them to keep him alive and relatively unharmed. If there really was no use in trying to appeal to their better natures or negotiating of any sort, then it was a perfect example of kill or be killed.
Allen remembered what the Russian man had said moments before he died: "She's come for you, boy. I'll kill you before she gets a chance to even see your face."
He had seen the absolute conviction in the man's dark eyes, the wholehearted intent of wanting to murder him in cold blood. It was always jarring to be reminded that the world was still filled with heartless souls such as his in this world. Allen allowed the silence to drag on, unsure of how to answer her. Was she evil for doing what she had to save people, most likely innocents that were unarmed and unsure of how they found themselves on Yamatai, and by doing so she had to kill those who would kill them? The answers he came to ended up leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
His quietness apparently was enough for her to go off on. She leaned back on her makeshift seat and put her bowl down. "Say what you will of my methods. But I do what I have to do to ensure your survival and others like you who end up here. The Solarii mean to end you without remorse. I mean to continue allowing you to breathe and make it off this wet rock. And besides," she smiled, but there was no warmth in her eyes as she spoke. "It's not like they're staying dead. I told you before. Those who die, end up revived after a time. Whether I killed them or not, they come back, ready to murder all over again."
He looked at her sharply. She had mentioned that before, now that he remembered, but it hadn't registered the first time. He was suddenly reminded of Miranda and her Innocence, Time Record.
"The time between when you kill the Solarii and Himiko and you get whoever you rescue off of Yamatai and when the Solarii are revived—is there an exact period of time between it all? A day or two before it all resets?" He was desperate for some reassurance or evidence that he wasn't alone. On the one hand, he wouldn't wish this place upon any of his friends at all, but if they were here and they had somehow escaped this woman's notice—he just wanted to know, for sure.
The woman, however, didn't even think on the answer. She knew it off the bat.
"No. There's no dedicated amount of time between it all. Sometimes, I go years without seeing any signs of the Solarii, the Oni, or Himiko's revival. Other times, it can be only days before it resets. And sometimes, when I'm feeling especially stupid and mistaking it for good fortune, I end up triggering the reset myself by trying to get out of range of Yamatai, whether by swimming or using a raft. I don't try anymore—I rather like not drowning, thanks very much."
His heart sank and felt elated all at once. His friends weren't here. That meant, for the time, they were safe from this hellhole. He was both disappointed and grateful for that reassurance.
"You were hoping for one of your own to be here, weren't you?"
Allen looked up at the woman and nodded. She was sharp as a tack and he gathered it was from her years of being sharply observant.
"If I see any more of your people bearing that cross of yours—I'll tell them you said hello. Gather your things. We're heading to the beach in ten minutes."
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It took a better part of the whole day to reach the beach.
They had to duck through more of the ruinous parts of the island—bunkers from an old war, the woman had explained, built by soldiers she had mentioned previously about. Most rooms were either collapsed or flooded, but there were plenty of routes to choose from regardless. They managed to make it relatively unscathed and without much fanfare, however. Carmilla was awaiting for them both, wading through the waves and spearing her head into the waters to catch fish. When they approached the decrepit remains of another bunker, she was upon them in a heartbeat.
Allen wisely chose not to get underfoot and allowed the woman to weave around the dinosaur's legs without nary a care. Apparently, she didn't seem to care much about being accidentally stepped on or kicked as he did.
"We'll be a while down here, sweets. See if you can't find the old lady, won't you?"
The woman gave a brief kiss on the giant's nose. Carmilla rumbled low and deep, before lifting her skull away and retreated from the site. Up the hill they had just descended she went, until she disappeared around the bend of the mountain that loomed over the beachhead.
The woman got another campfire going, and dropped the pack she had carried with supplies in it. It positively bulged with tools, snacks, extra ammo, and other equipment. Removing the bulk of the contents, the woman wrapped a leather tool belt around her waist, adjusting it so it fit. The tools went in next, arranged just so. Or so Allen assumed. Lastly, she tied her hair back and out of the way, but smaller tufts hung to frame her face.
"I'll be around the corner. Feel free to wander, but don't go too far, if can help it. If you need me…well, I'll most likely be elbow deep in the boat's engine. Try not to be too needy. I won't be much help if you do. Feel free to raid the snacks. I brought them for you."
His expression soured at her words but she turned away too quickly to see. It quickly morphed into open curiosity and surprise when he registered the full extent of her message and he cautiously went over to inspect the bag and found several deer skins inside, all carefully wrapped up and full of something. Opening one such parcel, he found a bundle of berries. In another, dried deer jerky. A few bottles of water were at the bottom of the pack.
Allen found himself a little more curious about his surroundings and set himself to pass the time by wandering the surrounding area. There were remnants and relics of many a bygone era scattered along the beach alone, never mind the island as a whole. He saw shipping containers, old wooden quays mixing with the concrete bunker they were basing in. In the distance of the grey waters, he could see an old sailing ship, beached upon a pile of rocks. Along the cliffs far off to the left of the bunker, he could make out more shipping containers and a metal ship—or what was a part of one, anyway. To their right, closer to where the woman was working, the giant remains of a wholly intact metal ship lay on its side, its deck displayed toward them. On the beach proper, there were old vehicles, sitting idly in the gritty sands and rusting away under the harsh briny sea air. Gulls circled above, crying plaintively into the empty air. Crabs scuttled and hurried along the lapping waves. Once, he thought he saw a boar trotting on the beach, but it had been too quick for him to be sure.
He could hear the woman cursing on occasion when he returned to the makeshift camp, poking around in some of the few intact rooms that even had doors. Dusty old desks sat in corners and he found a book on one of them, Robinson Crusoe by Daniel DeFoe. Its pages were yellowed with age and they smelled slightly musty in the way that only books could, but it was a small comfort to have something to do. He tried reading it but was barely ten pages in when he realized he was unable to focus on the words on the pages. It was also because the story was so depressing; the man had remained abandoned on the island for nearly three decades before help arrived. It hit a little too close to home in an ironic sense. He set it aside at first, and then as an afterthought, put it in the woman's bag. Maybe she'd enjoy it better than he. Thirty years seemed to pale in comparison. Besides, her personal chambers had quite a collection. One more couldn't hurt, could it?
Allen jumped when he heard a steady stream of expletives and shortly after, a thundering crash sound off where the woman was working on the boat. It was a metal thing, bare and unremarkable in appearance. He got up and trotted over to where she was working, on edge and alarmed immediately when he found her on the ground, a giant block of metal pipes and screws and nuts and other pieces of things he was guessing was the engine, lying next to her. Her shirt was blooming with red and it was growing. She saw him coming and shouted at him, "GET DOWN, THEY'RE HERE!"
He ducked in time as a staccato of bullets came raining down upon them both and dove for cover. She was out in the open, and caught another bullet in her shoulder, her side, her leg. She somehow managed to pick herself up and limp to the small cover in the boat—a half-canopy covering with a window—and pulled a pistol out of a holster at her back. She fired off a few around the corner of her cover.
"Where are they shooting from?!"
"Up on the ship over there—and the cliff sides to our rear!"
He peeped his head up, just enough to see what she was talking about and saw the flashes of muzzles in the distance. He ducked when a few more bullets whizzed past him. His heart pounded away against his ribcage. Allen steeled himself, preparing to summon his Crown Clown—perhaps he could get them out of there, she was too injured to evacuate herself and he was able enough.
His plans came to an abrupt end when he looked at the woman, saw her peer around her corner, shoot once, and then go down in an unceremonious slump herself as a spray of red popped out the back of her head. He stared for a long time, unsure of what he was seeing at first. Disbelief set in.
Get up, he told her. Get up, get up, get up.
She didn't get up. He could see something spreading, dying all of her hair red instead of just the tips, saturating it completely. His heart dropped away into his stomach and almost felt like it had stopped altogether as he began processing what had just happened.
"No…no, no…"
The firing had stopped, but he barely noticed as he got up and staggered over to clamber into the boat and toward the woman. His hand shook as he reached out, patting her shoulder, shaking it, lifting her up into a sitting position. Her mismatched eyes were open and glazed over. A neat little red hole sat on her left temple, a small rivulet of blood dribbling out of it. She slumped over, falling limp in his hands. He recoiled, a white-hot fury building up in his chest. His Crown Clown manifested in a flash as the gunfire started up again, this time from behind him. His Innocence flared up, creating a shield against the bullets.
"You think that little trick's going to keep you alive for long? Give it up!"
"Not a chance, you bastards," he growled under his breath, yet he hesitated. These men weren't Akuma. He couldn't just charge into a fight with them—they were humans. Humans with guns, firing at him granted, but this wasn't the same as taking on the Akuma or even a Noah. This was different. His gut lurched with distaste at the thought of tearing into a group of men, despite the circumstances.
His hesitation cost him precious seconds. More pops of gunfire started coming down now, a literal hailstorm of metal cascading down upon him and if it weren't for his Innocence, he would have been nothing but a slab of meat with bloody holes in it by now. The sound was thunderous, and more men were honing in on him. They were determined to shoot him dead. His hesitation cost him distance as well. They were coming closer, pressing in for the final hour.
Or it would have seemed as such, if the body in front of him didn't twitch. He jumped in surprise and didn't get to react beyond that when the woman jerked upright and a throaty growl filled the air, rising above even the roar of the gunfire. Her eyes slid into focus and the hole in her head slowly closed, leaving only the rivulet of blood behind. Before he could blink, she juked to the side and into the gunfire, and some of the bullets stopped racing, long enough for him to just barely hear, "OH SHIT, RUN! FUCKING RUN!"
He turned on his heel sharply in time to see the carnage begin, his cloak snapping in the air. Blood sprayed. Men screamed in agony and as if their lives depended upon it. He could see them trying to get away, scrambling over the bunker structure and out toward the camp, but they didn't get far. The woman's arms had transformed, from lean and wiry limbs to hulking muscled things armed with dark fur and claws, ripping into their assailants like Allen wouldn't. He could see patches of fur spread across what little available he could see of the woman's body now, her face beginning to bulge and her eyes—they were almost aglow in a golden light, and a single-mindedness was written plainly on her features.
Only when the screams died and the men along with them, did she stop. He stared, unable to comprehend at first. He was numb to the sight of the blood speckling the crumbling grey walls and cracked grounds. He didn't register the bodies strewn about the place, sometimes in pieces or the guns left untouched as he picked his way past. He didn't even want to glance at them. The woman had retreated a little further away, leaning on one of the pillars that had once been a support beam for the bunker, breathing heavily, her weight sagging against it. One hand held her head, rubbed at her temples. He could see the blood still soaked into her hair and his stomach churned uneasily. Where a hole in her head should have been, there was skull and hair and flesh instead, fully healed and mended. He had seen it for himself. She had been dead!
He wanted to call out to her, but was suddenly reminded that she had no name. He didn't know what to call her. Asking if she was all right seemed a bit trite; she clearly wasn't, not after dying and then coming back to go on a homicidal killing spree.
"Take a picture if you want to keep staring. It'll last longer," she suddenly spat while her back was still turned to him, her voice low and husky and strained but it cut to the quick just as harshly.
"You…you're not…"
"Dead? Hah." She panted, and the noise eventually devolved into a piteous groan as she clutched her head. The fur along her arms and elsewhere slowly withdrew until only flesh remained. Her clothing was noticeably a little looser, like it had begun to stretch out. "Those bastards…have tried for decades…tried to kill me so many times, I've lost count after the first couple dozen times."
She groaned again, this time trying to stifle the noise. She pushed herself away from the broken pillar and moved on unsteady paws back toward the makeshift campsite, taking one step at a time, as steadily as she could manage. She collapsed, almost in relief and dragged her pack over, shoving things in without articulate grace of any sort in her movements.
"We've gotta get out of here. Where there's one group, another's bound to show up soon enough."
"But, the boat—"
"It's dead. They shot the engine to hell. I'm good with repairing machines—but I'm not a fucking miracle worker. I can't fix it."
He expelled a breath and it was painful to get it out as it dawned on him.
"I'm—I'm stuck. I'm stuck on this island with you, then." His heart sank and the hope to escape, to leave, they vanished in an instant.
"Until I can find a way to fix that engine, the answer is 'yes' for now. You're stuck with me. And you'll end up dead sooner rather than later if we don't get out of here."
He scuttled closer as she made to stand, but only succeeded in swaying back over to crumple on her side.
"You can't make the walk. We can dig in here, hold our own."
"Then you'll die, and I'll end up ripping more people into itty bitty pieces in the end. They have more weapons, more bullets, more firepower, period. I'm insane, not crazy. I know when to make a tactical retreat and this? This is one of those times. Now just…give me a sec to catch my breath and get my feet underneath me…"
"You can't even stand. You can't make it like this. You were shot in the head, and last time I checked, most people who have that happen to them generally don't get up to walk again!"
He was glaring at her and his fists had balled up tightly at his side. How stupid could she possibly be? How thick-headed would she remain until they were both leaving pieces of themselves all over the island by trying to make a run for it? A run she couldn't possibly make in her condition! Perhaps he could help her, but if there were still pocket groups dotting the island, they might not make it unscathed. Allen's ire guttered momentarily when the woman pushed herself back up to her feet, holding a bit more firmness in her movements this go around as she shouldered her pack. She held a determined set in her jaw and an absolute coldness in her eyes he hasn't yet seen before until now. He was taken aback by the sudden change in her demeanor.
"You want to dig in like a fucking tick, you be my guest. Sit by that useless hunk of engine block with a neon sign hanging over your head announcing where you are, for all I care. I told you before, you want to let yourself get killed, then that's your prerogative. I won't stop you, not this time. Just don't come crying to me when you have a bullet in your back and a pack of those ugly bastards howling for your blood, kid."
Then, with a steadier step in her stride than he would have thought possible, she moved across the sand dunes and around the rocky pillars of stone and sand and scrub brush, up toward the top of the hill. He stared after her for a long while before he began moving after her, leaving behind the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore. It almost sounded like the very sea was laughing at him.
He hurried his pace to catch up with her.
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Note: Remember this, kids. Good does not necessarily mean nice.
