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Viewing Single Post From: Faraday's Cages
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"Sure." She croaked. And, oh God, her throat hurt.

Burns. You burnt your throat. It looks like it's been put in an oven.

So maybe talking wasn't the best idea.

"Uh. Okay. Right. So all we were doing was we were trying to make it to the river, trying to get ourselves clean after, what is it, four days now here."

Ugh. Charlie was talking so loud. Liz wanted to cover her ears; the cheerleader's voice was grating. Instead she let a piece of hair drop over her eyes so the other girl couldn't see she'd closed them.

"Then all of a sudden I hear this screaming so we go decide to check it out and we-"

Charlie cut herself off mid-sentence.

"Okay. Liz, what's important is…"

The cheerleader was speaking in a more reasonable tone of voice now. Somehow this made Liz's shoulders untense.

"We're not gonna hurt you. We're gonna help you whatever way we can, okay?"

Was Charlie being honest? Liz hoped the cheerleader was being honest. There was no way she could defend herself. That said, someone had saved her life. That had to count for something.

"We, uh... we found you right by the river, and we... we thought you could use some help. That's Helen, she's our med student and she's the one who actually knows what she's doing and I think you... you maybe owe your life to here. And there's Dave, he was the one with the idea to dunk you in the water, so- so God knows he helped out a lot too. And that's Winsome, she gave you the sweatshirt, and... well, I think you and the sweatshirt are getting along pretty well already."

So. Dave had saved her. Helen had doctored her. And Winsome had given her the sweatshirt.

Hunh.

Maybe people turn nicer on the island?

That seemed like an incredibly poor assumption to make.

Breathe, Liz. Breathing was hard. Breathing stung. Breathing made her throat rattle and catch, and made her want to cough up more black mucus, but no, no, that was more painful. She kept her breaths shallow, nervous. It was easier that way.

She made the motion for pen and paper.

It was Isabel Guerra, the tall girl, who gave her the pad from the crimson bedroom. The pen was in her hand. She had forgotten about it, when Charlie was talking. The tip was slightly smashed, but it would do.

She picked up the pen. Even her hand felt weak. Burnt too. She didn't know if you were supposed to bandage burns.

THANK YOU, she wrote.

She pointed it at Charlie.

Charlie frowned, and pointed at the three who she said deserved thanks. Dave, Helen and Winsome.

Liz obediently pointed the message at Dave, Helen and Winsome.

Then she began to scribble. The the others gathered around. Liz was very glad she could fix her eyes on the pad.

I AM GOING TO WRITE DOWN HOW TO TURN THE COLLARS INTO FARADAY CAGES.

IT'S PROBABLY PRETTY OBVIOUS, BUT IF YOU GUYS WOULD SHOW OTHER PEOPLE, THAT WOULD BE GREAT.

ALSO, IT PROBABLY WORKS BETTER WITH A PARTNER. I WAS STUPID.

IS THAT OKAY?

There was a long silence. Liz didn't know how to break it. The people who had rescued her were looking at each other. There was some eyebrow raising going on. Interpretation was difficult.

Finally Dave leaned in, and spoke slowly. "Hey, see, that fucked you up so no thanks to that, but if you need someone to stop people killing you, I guess I could lend a hand."

Liz bit her lip. She was probably supposed to be grateful.

And after a moment she was, surprising herself. She wasn't sure she trusted Dave, but she had been fairly certain no one would stay with her while she recovered. The terrorists were smart, and murderous, and Liz, it was probably obvious, had zero idea how the game went from here.

No. She had one idea how the game went.

I NEED TO GO TO THE TUNNELS.

IF I GET THERE I CAN SMASH THE RADIO RELAYS INSIDE AND THE UNDERGROUND AREAS WILL BE SAFE TO USE.

She swallowed. It hurt. This was a risk. Telling people where she was going could backfire.

On the other hand, they could help her. A large group would be safe, maybe. And she would be defenseless alone.

Her hand went to her neck instinctively. There was nothing she liked about being defenseless.

Helpless. Stupid girl.

She would raid corpses on the way. Maybe find a gun she could use. Again, she had no supplies. Only Cyrille's tank top.

Great.

One more thing to write. Bent down over the pad. Kept her hair over her eyes.

I WON'T SMASH CAMERAS WHILE I'M WITH YOU, UNTIL YOU ASK ME TO, IF YOU ASK ME TO. OKAY?
--------


Alice Boucher was a liar.
Liz Polanski played with fire.

And who the hell is Radio Asuka?
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Faraday's Cages · The Woods: Inland