[[Wendy Fischer Continued From: Cursed are the ones who can't abide.
"So, let's see what 'extra supplies' Bridgette found littered on the island, shall we, Mr. Dolph?"
The corners of Wendy's eyes squinted a bit, head slightly turned at an angle, as her lips gave the carp a sheepish smile. It rested on the remnants of the still somewhat frozen section of ice-cubes, water from the melted pieces already drained, leaving the cooler with a lighter burden.
She peeled through the contents of the heavier bag, marked G26, looking for anything out of the ordinary. It seemed like Bridgette had a little extra of everything Wendy had in her own bag. Double in fact. That was hardly fair. That was okay though, because everything the gardener had was now hers. Including this large cooking pan-pot hybrid jammed into the pack, with everything stacked on top. Interesting. Bridgette had already provided the pretty knife, but she went through the trouble of finding a nifty large sauce pan, too. How nice. She could definitely use this. Little by little, Wendy lightened the load, taking the essentials of Bridgette's sack into her own.
From a distance, Wendy had seen the green blouse flow toward the meal-giving shelter as its owner moved through the fields, a grasshopper in winter. Wendy wanted to call out on its adventure, as the green made haste to the home of ants. Fly little cicada, fly. — She did not.
Loud speakers blared and a call of "Gooood morning, children..." a voice all too familiar, beat into her skull, right from nowhere.
The lost girl shrank into the grass, hands trembling over covered ears, back pressed to walls of the open cooler, cowering.
A scene replayed. The blood splattering, on her cheek, on her braid. Her own screams. Her own fingers raking against her face skin. The large man, voice booming as he spoke, standing over their teacher, face shrouded in shadows, only the whites of his eyes and teeth glowing with menace.
Wendy had a front seat view.
She listened, of death, as before. This time of the others. Others on the bus, like when she turned and looked at her friend Will. First to kill. Now a carrion meal. She wept into her palms. No sounds just tears. The loud speaker went off. The voice was no more. She thought of the names of varying love turned loss, former acquaintances, fellow cheerleaders, all around good people either killing or dead. Her attention went back to the carp, Mr. Dolph, at the hole in its scaly flesh.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to let her stab you."
He had taken a knife to the gullet for her. Even without a head. It was a reminder not to let his sacrifice be in vain. It made her sad, but she couldn't keep thinking sad things. Especially not every-time that man's voice filled her ears. Mr. Dolph would have wanted her to be fearless. Daddy too in fact. She couldn't disappoint them. Not for all they've done.
Then she thought of Vincent - it was pretty funny. Oh, and Panya too. Sounds like Bridgette had indeed plucked and pruned poor Panya's petals. Apparently, the gardener was still alive too with her absence from the death toll. How she managed to escape while Wendy slept and not decide to prune her as well, was a mystery no doubt. She washed the few tears from her eyes, using some of the melted ice-blocks. Everything would be okay.
The only somewhat recognizable girl in green had crashed, in front of the building, face down in the dirt. Now the door was opening. Wendy grabbed her stuff, leaving the bag labeled G26 on the ground, devoid of essentials. She turned away.
What if the terrible man was making his announcements from in there. The one named Victor Danya. She couldn't stay. She needed to be fearless not stupid.
Definitely not dumb.
Wendy rubbed her forearms and fled. Her quest for pants and help for Kasumi would have to continue elsewhere.
[[Wendy Fischer Thinks: When There's Nothing Left to Burn, You Have to Set Yourself on Fire.