"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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((Maynard Hurst continued from Hanley's Bazaar))

"A shack sounds good. Maybe it'll be better...better...better lit than the offices."

Maynard followed suit as Natali edged around the shattered cart, his eyes firmly squeezed shut. He was cold and sore and tired, and he'd just seen his first body on the island. No matter how hard he closed his eyes, the image of Mark Little's corpse remained etched in his mind. His legs shook as he took stumbling step after stumbling step, with bile begin to froth in his throat. A boy a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier lay broken and bloody before them. He could only imagine what he'd done if Mark had been a friend of his, or someone who he'd had much interaction beyond the occasional "Hey."

Mark's death had been an accident, or so the announcements had said. In a way, Maynard was slightly glad of that fact, as horrible as the thought was. If Mark, a friendly boy of such grand stature, had have been taken down by a fellow classmate, what chance did Maynard have? Or Gwen? Or Natali? Or anybody else?

There'd been more killings. More killings than he'd ever had anticipated. Naomi and Carmina were dead. Naomi by Summer of all people. She was so sweet and friendly to everybody. Could that have all been an act? And if Naomi, their class president and a fellow book clubber, could be taken down so easily, by a friend of all people. Without Naomi, then their chance of escape had dropped, he knew. Naomi was dead, and Miles was a killer. I thought they were supposed to be our leaders. I'd hoped for them to be able to do... something at least...

The thought of his friends turning killer was even worse than them dying, in a way. Theodore had killed three times. And if Summer's niceties were all an act, then did that mean Joachim's were as well? Carmina was so innocent - she'd never given anybody any reason to hurt her. He could rationalise some justifications for the deaths of more disliked students, but for the nice guys, like Venice or Xavier... it was still difficult to fully comprehend. But it was getting easier. Gradually.

Maynard snapped out of his reflection as he continued to make his way by the cart. His heart thumped loudly and quickly within his chest, exhaustion mixing with horror at the body before them. In the darkness he clutched onto Natali's hand, his grip tight.

If they could get through tonight, then he'd be happy.
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