Chapter Three
Clear Shot
There are four of them and they stare in silence.
Mia Caras (girl number twenty one) is the first to turn away. With her hands on her knees she vomits back up the few tears of bread she'd managed to get down.
The tree branch creaks like slowly grinding teeth.
Clarissa Jean (girl number seventeen) has turned away to wrap her arms around Mia's back and embrace her into a hug.
The wind shifts the shadow from side to side.
Lindsay Haines (girl number eighteen) crosses herself and turns away, a shiver coursing through her large figure. She closes her eyes in silent prayer.
Only Emma Macmillan (girl number fourteen) approaches the body, reaching out to touch the boy's bare foot. One of his sandals must have fallen off when he made the leap and it lay sideways underneath his shadow. When her fingertips touch his cold skin she draws her hand back, clutching it to her body, and steps back. An icy breeze whips past them, pulling the hanging boy slightly to the side, and when it ends, the corpse begins to swing again from the end of the rope. Emma finally can bear it no longer and she turns to her girlfriends with tears in her eyes. And even though Emma is, and has always been, their fearless leader in their mischief and their joy, she asks them: "What do we do now?"
"Cut him down." Lindsay says, lightly touching the crucifix around her neck.
Clarissa squeezes her eyes when she cries and Mia's arm has flown to clutch Clarissa's. Their backs are turned but the image of the body will never leave them. It's not their first introduction to the Program today but it's hit the hardest. The sky has taken on a fiery hue as morning pushes itself onto the island. The girls are on the swim team and are used to vigorous workouts but they're legs are sore from squatting, crouching, hiding, running. They're exhausted and this is water brimming the cup.
They're tough though. They mourn quietly together. In silent tears, one climbs up the tree with the knife and the other three take hold of the boy's legs. They cut him down and lay him on a bed of leaves. Lindsay says a few kind words about him and Clarissa recalls a memory of the boy's kindness in a diner. Mia uses her blanket to cover the boy's face. Emma stays back, swatting at her tears, trying to keep it all together. Her girls are depending on her not to lose her shit. She can't afford to break down now.
~
If they separate, they don't stray too far. When they rest, they do it in shifts.
Emma listens for gunfire or explosions or screams. There are echoes sometimes. She tries not to let her imagination roam. They come across a burnt out campfire with two logs embedded in the dirt. Clarissa, the smallest of them, sits first, rubbing her red ankles. Lindsay sits next to her, taking a sip of water, her sun-kissed hair falling off of her back, her long thin face in what seems like a permanent scowl of pain. Mia, hands in her back pockets, doesn't look comfortable as she sits, seemingly on the lookout as she hunches forward to peer behind trees and shrubs. Emma doesn't sit either. Instead, she opens her map and holds it in front of her.
As soon as she does this, a trumpet blows fanfare. The four look up, toward a speaker set in a tree.
"B12, P23, R04..."
"What is that?" Asks Clarissa but Emma is a step ahead of her, setting the map on the moist dirt and marking each square with her pencil.
A few more areas are listed and then, the announcement ends. There is an uncomfortable silence shared between them.
"Fuck," Emma whispers after studying the map. "These are just random spots."
"What does that mean?" Clarissa asks.
"It means we have to watch our asses," Lindsay replies in her husky voice, locking eyes with Emma. There is fear in Lindsay's aqua colored eyes, which are usually filled with a stoic understanding on a regular basis. Lindsay being scared frightens Emma more than anything because Lindsay is usually their fearless rock. Clarissa, in her childlike mannerisms, takes Lindsay's hand and squeezes it kindly.
An apprehensive cloud lingers over them; two of their own are still missing in these woods. For all they know, their friends are dead. But until its certain, there is an unspoken agreement between the four of them that they must keep looking.
~
No one has disturb their little haven; the fire was doused a few minutes ago, just in case. Mia snores softly with her back against one of the logs. Emma has been staring at the map intently for the last twenty minutes, gripping the pen between her teeth. Clarissa is sitting against a tree with droopy eyelids, trying to stay away.
Lindsay chews on an end of her hair, touching her rosary again. She prays more in the last few hours than she has in the last three years of her life, when her parents divorce papers processed. She tries to recite every bible verse that she's tucked away in the back of her memory. She silently mouths the words of long forgotten prayers through her strands of hair as she stands above Clarissa. Her gazes falls onto Clarissa's light blonde hair and lingers for a few seconds too long. She catches herself doing this and looks away, back toward Emma and then toward the forest, training to her eyes to catch any hint of movement. So far, other than the suicide, they haven't come across anyone, living or dead. Lindsay had heard a shout earlier, but it was so distant and far off that she'd been the only one to hear it.
Lindsay glances at Clarissa again, who has finally succumbed to sleep. Clarissa's mouth hangs open, devoid of any lip gloss or chap stick, and her small hands lay palm up to the sun. Lindsay sinks down into a sitting position as Emma falls back and uses the back of her arm to wipe a glean of sweat from her forehead.
Emma is crying and Lindsay looks away. She doesn't like to see Emma defeated, similar to how Emma doesn't like to see Lindsay in fear. Lindsay thinks that this is becoming too much for Emma, that Emma is trying to ensure their survival, as if Emma had a hand in this mess. She wants to take Emma's hand, tell her that no matter what, she appreciates Emma for trying, that she should stop planning because regardless, when the clocks hit seventy two hours, all of that planning would be for not. She wants to tell Emma that they should just cherish the time they have left because who knows how much time that's going to be.
Instead, Lindsay doesn't say a word of it. Instead, her hands slides into Clarissa's and stays there, appreciating the warmth. Clarissa opens her eyes a little lazily, one after the other, and a little tremor of surprise shakes her. She rolls her head to Lindsay, and gives her a warm smile. Then, to Lindsay's amazement, Clarissa rests the side of her head on Lindsay's shoulder, and for a moment, Lindsay lets the fantasies roam free: that she and Clarissa weren't on an island but were on a date, where Clarissa admits that she has had feelings for Lindsay too. Then, they were sharing a first kiss on Lindsay's parents yacht. Then, they were choosing colleges together, colors for their wedding, signing adoption papers, taking photos for the newspaper.
Lindsay is an intelligent girl and she knows that these are just her versions of girlish fantasies but her heart flutters a little when she thinks of them because they are her own and she's never told them to anyone; a secret she shares with herself. She accepts Clarissa's warmth, imagining what it'd be like to lean in and let her lips linger on Clarissa's. She's excited and scared at this idea; Clarissa was her first friend ever, her best friend and, although she loves the other girls, how she feels about Clarissa is indescribable. Whenever she sees Clarissa, she thinks that she is home. If she has to die, and Clarissa is holding her hand when she does, she'll be okay with that.
~
Emma feels a bit of a strain on her lower back from hunching over that map. She folds her map, telling herself that she's just too tired to look at it. Even she doesn't want to admit to herself that she has no idea where to start looking for her two missing friends. They could be anywhere, doing anything, in any physical state. She is still trying to calm herself down from walking; the entire time they hiked, she wondered if they'd turn a corner and come across her friends' hanging bodies, as they came across the boy's.
The thought of Nick Yang (deceased) fills her with despair. She sees him when she closes her eyes, rocking back and forth on that tree branch, his eyes bulged, his tongue swollen and purple between his dry lips, his skin a chilly pale, firm against his bones as they moved him. They didn't have time or the tools to bury him and Emma wonders if any animals came across the corpse. She feels sick now and stands up, taking a few quick strides past a couple of trees to empty her stomach. She doesn't want the girls to see her like this, although Lindsay seems to notice everything. That girl doesn't miss a beat.
Poor Nick, Emma thinks. He always seemed like a tough guy. He seemed like someone who could handle whatever shit came his way. She's known him all of her life but she doesn't think she's ever met his parents before. They're affluent and non-existent, which reminds her of her own family. He didn't deserve to go that way and she wonders what led him to the conclusion that he'd fair better at the end of a rope than on the island. What had he seen that made him give up so easily, she wonders. He had friends too, a girlfriend in Stacey Oneal (girl number twenty), and a brother in the military. Family.
And he chose that.
Emma shudders, huffs in a couple of breaths, and stands up.
That's when she hears the arguing.
~
Give me the keys.
Mia, you're drunk.
Gives me the fucking keys--
Mia awakes with a start. She sits up, grabbing at her chest to extinguish the fire, only to see that there is no fire. She is breathing hard.
"Mia?" Lindsay asks.
"I'm fine," Mia replies, gulping hard. It was just a dream, she tells herself. She combs her fingers through her short black hair, rubbing her palm against the back of her itchy neck. Her heart rate slows down as she eases herself into her current situation. It's ironic that this 'death-match' doesn't fill her with the same sort of anxiety as that memory.
Give me the keys--
She needs a drink. Just a shot of whiskey or tequila or vodka. Vodka has been her drink of choice as of late but she usually changes it up every few months. She leans her head back, wondering how much time has elapsed since they came across Nick Yang's corpse. The sun is in it's prime, bathing the high forest leaves, making them a translucent green. She curls a handful of damp dirt between her fingers, trying to relieve the tension in her body.
Clarissa's eyelids flutter in her sleep. Her head is against one of Lindsay's muscular shoulders and her legs bent in a sideways V shape beneath her. She looks sort of angelic and innocent, the sort of innocence rare these days. Clarissa is only a year younger than any of them and, as well as being extremely intelligent, she carries this odd-like purity in her character, this bubbly virtue and optimism. Seeing her, here, with that dog collar around her neck, makes Mia question everything she knows. It's like seeing a dark rain cloud in a pure blue sky. It doesn't belong. What did Clarissa do to deserve this?
Lindsay, watching Mia intently, says: "Do you think we'll find them?"
Them. Their two missing friends. Mia tries not to show how much this bothers her, that two of her best friends are somewhere missing in these woods. "I don't know," She admits. "We should try though, right?"
Lindsay nods and Mia is thankful that she doesn't point out the obvious: that they have no idea where to start looking for Miranda Beamer (girl number four) or Avery Patton (girl number twelve) are alive or dead, because odds are that wherever they are, they're not together.
The leaves above them rustle as a slight breeze carries with it the scent of the ocean. Mia ignores thoughts of Miranda and Avery throwing themselves off of a cliff, disappearing into the dark depths of water that surrounds the island. They wouldn't do that, would they? Abandon them? They aren't weak, like Nick was. She's angry at Nick for draining their hope. Why did he have to do that? Didn't he have friends here? Couldn't he have turned to them? Mia tries to grasp for hope and finds that she's come up with only a little: that her friends, at least some of them, are with her. She doesn't think of the cold metal that nips at her neck every time she turns her head. She doesn't think of the alluding danger that lurks behind every corner. She tries not to wonder if this, this very moment in time, might be her last peaceful moment with her friends on this earth. She is about to tell Lindsay that they should get going, because moving is better than just sitting here doing nothing, when the gunshot rings out and Emma sprints out of the woods with a frantic look on her face.
~
Emma nearly trips over her feet getting out of there. She hopes she hasn't been seen. She prays she hasn't been seen.
"We need to go." She says quickly, quietly.
Clarissa has this look of horror on her face as she wakes up. "What happened--?"
Emma rushes in, covers Clarissa's mouth, glancing fearfully over her shoulder. When she hears no noise, no sign of a pursuing assailant, she begins to stuff their few supplies into their bags. She doesn't want to say what she saw to them yet, because she needs their heads to be clear and she needs them to be alert. Lindsay helps Clarissa to her feet. Mia grabs one of the bags without a word, standing by as she waits for Emma's instruction. The second gunshot cracks against the wood on the tree behind Mia.
Hell breaks loose.
He stands there with this yellowing grin on his face. He emerges from the shadows, holding this aluminum baseball bat, his figure large and daunting. Clarissa opens her mouth to scream and a weak gasp is all that comes out because another figure comes out of the woods, this one holding the gun at a slightly cocked angle. He isn't smiling at all; he's calculating the situation. The girls move closer toward Emma; she dutifully steps in front of them, a flimsy shield between her friends and a bullet. "I didn't see anything." Emma whispers.
"You did," The one with the gun says.
"What should we do with them?" The one with the baseball bat.
"Aren't there supposed to be more of you?" The one with the gun.
Emma doesn't move, doesn't make a sound. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't give up Miranda and Avery; she's paralyzed with fear. Up until this moment, she'd felt a concrete wall up between the four of them and the dangers of the Program. Now, she wonders how many way she can die from a baseball bat and how it'll take. She, too, is trying to read these two boys, these thugs.
In the woods, they'd been arguing with each other, arguing about killing the boy in front of them. Diego Velasquez's (boy number three) face was covered in blood as he laid, limbs extended, in the dirt. He was shivering, hard, as he attempted to drag himself forward. His face, which rarely went without a grin, was swollen and grotesque, even in the distance. The boy with the bat planted a heavy boot on Diego's back to stop him and Diego couldn't even muster of scream. Emma's hand flew up to her mouth to stop the cry that threatened her exposure. She stepped back, the magnetism of her own group silently beckoning her like the safety of home.
The boy with the gun pressed the gun against Diego's head. He looked up then, and with an obnoxious looking sniff, said: "Do you smell smoke?"
Emma was already running when she heard the shot that ended Diego's life, not realizing that the boy with the baseball bat caught a glance of her golden hair in the sunshine.
~
Mia wants to hold her hands in front of her, to tell these boys that she needs a break, a time-out, as if she were back at her swimming practice with her friends. She puts a hand to her heart, her breaths loud and heavy as they push out of her throat. There is silence now, just the rustle of leaves, the twittering of birds above them and the heavy breathing of Mia.
And the chuckle of the boy with the bat.
Give me the keys, Mia--
Mia closes her eyes, her gut writhing in pain. She hears the tire's skidding, the metal crunching. It's a memory but it's enough to cause her to buckle over, almost collapsing. Lindsay, with a hand, catches one of her arms, her strength enough to keep Mia upright but wobbly. Mia forces herself to stand up straight, although she feels like she's going to have a heart attack.
"Aren't there supposed to be more of you?" The boy with the gun asks. No one speaks. Emma looks like she's going to piss her pants. The boy opens his mouth to say something else, and his gun raises a fraction of an inch, and suddenly, the side of his head pops open like a watermelon, and were it not for the ringing in Mia's ear from the gunshot that came from right beside her, she would have heard the boy with the bat yell out in panic and fear for his friend.
~
Clarissa has been a shooter ever since she was five years old.
"When do you shoot?" Her father would ask.
"When you can no longer hear yourself breath." Clarissa replied dutifully.
"And do we shoot people?"
"No."
"No, that's right. But what are the two exceptions? Only if..."
"Only if..." She struggled to remember this.
He frowned. "Damn it, Clarissa, this is important."
"Only... only if he's in danger?"
He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Maybe we should stop with the lessons. I think they're becoming too much for you."
"No!" Clarissa squealed. This time with her father was rare and precious, and even at her young age she knew that she didn't want to miss out on it. She thought again. "Only if he's dangerous."
"And...?"
"And... only if there's a clean shot." She said this as if she were reciting the pledge of allegiance in her class, obediently and not yet fully grasping the weight of the words in her young mind.
"Good girl. These will get easier with time. Now, see those bottles? We're going to try to hit those first." He put the earmuffs on her tiny head. "Go ahead, Clarissa." The gun, cold and metallic, is sandwiched between her small hands and his large ones cover hers firmly. "You'll get better. It does get easier with time."
She misses the bottles this time. After all, a rare few make their first shot.
But he's right. With time, she does become better.
Much better.
~
Clarissa reaches into Lindsay's waistband, pulls out the gun slowly. Lindsay's eyes widen in surprise but she doesn't give away any signs. She's too busy catching Mia, who is about to collapse, hard, onto the ground. Clarissa thinks that she might be breaking rule number two, that she doesn't have a clear shot. She's engulfed in Emma's shadow, her movements hidden and covert. She tries to settle her pounding heart. She's shot deer and elk and a turkey once but never a person. Still, she levels the barrel to his skull in her mind. She'd have to be Clint Eastwood to pull this off, and if she had more than a moment to think about it, she might have hesitated before she raised the gun. But she didn't have a moment. The boy with the gun looks eager, his finger itchy on the trigger. Emma's terrified. Had she seen something? Had the two boys killed someone? Clarissa stops herself from answering these questions, knowing that they're not going to make a difference in the end. She's trying to talk herself out of this, because she doesn't want to live with this and at the same time if she doesn't do this, she won't live long enough to worry about it.
Clarissa moves slightly to the left. The boy with the bat registers the gun in Clarissa's hand before the boy with the gun can. Suddenly, the boy with the gun looks at Clarissa after he asks his question and his eyes find the barrel of the gun. He doesn't have time to try to aim his own at her because Emma and Mia are in the way and for a split second, Clarissa wonders if Emma might get shot as collateral damage.
No time now.
There is surprise in his eyes, surprise that maybe the tiny girl could have the balls to level a gun at him. But there's probably a lot he doesn't know about her or her friends. Clarissa feels remorse up until the second before she pulls the trigger, because, by then, she's finally convinced herself that if he hadn't pointed the gun at them first, he wouldn't have had this coming.
The two boys are dangerous.
She has a clear shot.
A glob of blood, skull and brain matter make a splat sound against one of the pale trees. Mia is covering one of her ears, her jaw extended in mortification. Lindsay brings both hands to her mouth, looking at Clarissa. Emma staggers back. The boy with the gun collapses into a heap on the ground and his friend makes a dash toward him. Clarissa nearly drops the gun, nearly, but raises it again, not allowing herself time to register what she's done because they're not out of the ball-park just yet. Behind her, her friends are shuffling, getting things together. Clarissa is the only one not moving, both petrified and completely focused. The barrel of her gun is leveled to the second boy's chest. She imagines him flying back in a frenzy of blood and smoke.
The boy with the bat weeps and through his tears: "Oh God, oh God..." His knuckles are white around the handle of the bat.
"Don't do anything stupid," She whispers softly, moving sideways. Her movement makes the boy jerk up quickly, suddenly aware again that he's not alone. He looks at the gun in his dead friend's hand and looks at Clarissa. She shakes her head. Don't do it, she silently begs. But there is too much fury in his eyes; he's not seeing reason, he's seeing red. He pries the gun from his friend's grip with a rage-like savageness and before he can fire off a shot Clarissa puts a bullet between his shoulder blades. He falls backward, his arms twirling out in cartoon fashion as he tries to brace his fall, the gun going off in his hand. Clarissa breaths hard, her nostrils flared and her eyes stinging with tears. She feels a hand on her back and spins around, jamming the hot nozzle of the gun underneath Lindsay's chin. Lindsay gasps. Clarissa's tears finally release when she sees the fear in Lindsay's eyes, the fear in all of their eyes. Emma and Mia... they look surprised and scared. It's an unfamiliar look to Clarissa and it makes her feel like a stranger to them. She lowers her gun and says: "I'm sorry," Because it's all she can think to say.
"It's alright," Lindsay replies, pulling Clarissa in for a hug. "You had to."
~
And suddenly Mia approaches her two hugging friends and encircles both of them. Emma completes the group hug, a little tense, but warm. They allow this for a few seconds, crying their silent tears, energizing each other with what could only be described as love. But they break away quickly because a few seconds is all they're allowed. Someone could have heard those gunshots and they've got two friends somewhere in these woods, lost, waiting to be found.
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