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Strive
Topic Started: Jul 25 2017, 10:51 AM (105 Views)
Namira
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Null sheen.
[ *  *  *  *  *  *  * ]
((Enzo continued from Summertree)).

Enzo's hand hurt.

They'd done their best job at binding the injury with a bandage, wrapping it tight and clumsily working through their depleted medical kit—for all the good their attempts had done anyone—but they didn't need to be a doctor to know that they'd done some serious damage to themselves. They'd changed the dressing twice over the course of the day, and each time, the blood had still wound up seeping back through. Slower, now, but Enzo was pretty sure they must have broken their knuckles, maybe a couple metacarpals.

Whatever. In the grand scheme of things, it didn't matter much.

They'd done their best for Coleen, too. Once it stopped—not hurting, cause there was no way it wasn't going to stop hurting—but making them want to scream to look at her, Enzo had picked her up and laid her on one of the pews, covered her over with a jacket from their own duffel. It was less than the least she deserved, and if Enzo hadn't already been torn to pieces, it would have ripped them up that it was everything they could do for her. Here, it was just another nail to drive into their heart.

It had taken them some effort to make it up onto the chapel roof. However, it wasn't like they had anything better to do. One chair on top of one pew, some judicious use of the vines crawling up the side of the building, and Enzo had managed to clamber their way up there.

...

Well, the view wasn't anything to write home about.

The terrorists had been thorough. There were even cameras up here, scrutinising Enzo with their beady little eyes.

"Oh give it a rest," Enzo told the closest one.

They lay on their back, looking up at the clouded sky.

"You watching, BB? Told you that you shouldn't be. Definitely not Brady."

...

"I'm sorry, guys. I really let you down. Turns out you take my phone away from me and I'm pretty much useless.

"Wish I could have done more out here. I'm just... I guess I'm not that kind of person. I don't have the genius ideas or the one-in-a-million plans.

"I'm kind of just that cheerful idiot who makes dumb videos."

Enzo sat up.

"I'm out of moves, guys. I don't know what to do. There's like a dozen of us left and I don't have it in me to try and stick it out to the end.

"I haven't killed anyone, but the longer this goes on, the more folks die all around me. What difference does it make, you know? I can keep a clear conscience, but I fucked up anyway. Everyone died on my watch. So what's the point? I get to the end, and then what? Keep holding hands and praying for some kind of miracle?

"I... don't have it in me.

"This goes on any longer, and I have to pick between my life and someone else's, and I'm not doing that. I'm not letting these people make me do that."

Enzo turned the knife from their daypack over and over in their good hand. This was the first time they'd even held the thing.

"Brady. BB. I love you both."

They took a deep breath, let it out. Another deep breath, slowly let it out.

"Okay, here goes. One in a million."

The scraping of blade against metal echoed lonely around the chapel.

A half dozen seconds of frantic scrabbling later, there was a muffled pop.


VINCENZO 'ENZO' GATTI: DECEASED
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