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“Until we find a safe place?”

Clarice wondered, distantly, if this was how she’d sounded to everyone else yesterday. Group up and hope for the best? How well had that gone?

And maybe she wanted to punch Ty for his dismissive ‘fuck off’—although maybe she just wanted to punch Ty in general, and it didn’t have shit to do with what he’d said. She did grimace at the words. But she kind of agreed with the sentiment. But then she also didn’t. Everything was just so fucking… jumbled.

She turned to face Natalie. Clarice didn’t think the girl was trying to pull a trick on her, but she’d also thought Nancy wouldn’t attack her. That Conrad wouldn’t hurt anyone, even after all that shit about outlasting. What the fuck did she know about good judgment calls, when every one she’d made had been bad?

“Where, exactly, do you think we’re going to find a safe place? Do you think the terrorists set up a breakroom, in case we want a break from all the murder? There isn’t one. There just… there fucking isn’t, alright?” Clarice’s voice shook. It was impossible to tell if it was from anger or from being near tears. “And if there was, it wouldn’t be with us. Or… or you’d be talking to four people instead of two.”

She turned back to the ocean. Why did it have to look so fucking nice?

“Why couldn’t this happen yesterday?” she muttered, more to herself than anyone around her.

She wanted to believe grouping up for safety would help. She really did. But there would be no safety until the end of the game. And if it ended on their terms, that would be too late for it to matter.
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In A World Of Shit · The Connecting Bridge