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God was telling you "not yet".
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Trent shook. How many people had died now, according to the announcements at least? 30? 40? 50? It wasn't like he was keeping score, but shit, it'd only been a couple of days and everyone at Bayview had gone straight out of their fucking minds. Knowing that anyone they met could be a potential murderer wasn't exactly a comfort to him, and judging by Craig's reactions to the list, he figured now he'd have to be the one to start protecting the other.

His kanabo stung his hand as he loosened his grip - the nerves having gotten the better of him, he'd held it so tight in his palm that it caused large red grooves to appear in his skin. Gently, he slipped down off the edge of the fountain, being careful not to move to fast in case of a head rush, and shuffled over to his partner. What should he say...? He didn't know Reiko very well, so...


Then without warning, Owen appeared out of nowhere.

One of Craig's friends was here, looking scared and panicked. Trent raised his weapon a little - he wasn't about to let him mosey on over after hearing all that shit on the speakers. He could be one of them. A murderer. Crazy. His weapon grew higher, showing the guy what he would get if he took even the slightest step towards them. He knew Craig couldn't see what he was doing, and he was glad. He knew that he'd probably try and defend the guy if anything happened, leaving Trent to deal with the island all by himself. It was selfish, he knew, but the sense of relief when the boy turned tail and fled was overwhelmingly satisfying. Right now, he needed Craig more than anything else, and while he was still alive and kicking he wouldn't let anyone near the two of them.

With Owen gone, his heartbeat steadied, and he lowered his weapon to his waist. Patting Craig on the shoulder in commiseration, he hobbled back over to where he'd been sitting beforehand and slumped back down next to his things.

By his estimations, it must've been past 6am now, if the terrorists were keeping a schedule, which meant it would be high-time to find cover if they wanted to last another day. He dove into his bag, retrieving his map. Folding it out across his lap, he scanned the whole thing for a perfect place to hide. The woods seemed too open, and there was a huge chance they'd bump into another group while they wandered around in there. The beach was a definite no-no; they'd be far too vulnerable. His eyes glanced at the very top of the map, at the sea, washing a look of desperation over his face.

If only we had a boat...

His eyes trailed away from the paper, looking up at the area ahead of him. The flowers were still growing here, which would've seemed odd to him if he'd seen the rest of the island, so he stared at them for a while, studying their quiet swaying as the wind conducted them. Then by chance, he noticed something dark in the flowers to the right. A large something, actually. A something which... no, were they -


He muttered under his breath, keeping his gaze solely focused on the shape.

"Craig, get over here."

He swallowed.

"I think someone's hiding."
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