((Rutherford "R.J." Roger Jr.: B032 -V5- Continued From OX/3))
As R.J. lied in the coffin, he thought of whether or not to leave it. If he died in here, it'd be the closest thing he would get to a proper burial on this island. Or anyone else like Cap, Mark, or Luca would get either. Maybe it was selfish, hogging the surprisingly cool coffin to himself. Maybe it was finders keepers. Still, it wasn't like he had planned to stay for long. He was only here because it was the closest thing he could call a shelter that didn't make the collar beep. He had to find something after leaving the obstacle course, he had barely slept a wink. Maybe there were better places to sleep, like the floor, but he doubted they had cushions.
Mark's body was still close by somewhere in this amusement park. Splattered. He was keeping his arms busy, pushing up the coffin lid, then let it fall back into his palms. Repeat. Up and down...open and close...quick glances of the decorations of the interior around him. Monsters, ghosts, spiders, all that cheesy stuff. New things with each push. Only one constant, no matter the position of the coffin lid. R.J. eyes began to close out of tiredness. He slept.
R.J's eyes broke open. The coffin was still closed. His body acted on it's own and rocked around out of panic. He could feel it falling off the table, along with the wooden trap. His bag and himself spiraled upside down. There was a loud banging noise, along with a small clicking one. His cheek was now smushed against the lid. He tried pushing himself off of it, but the coffin had put all of it's weight on him. He was stuck. As best as the muffling coffin would allow, he pleaded for assistance.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckin' heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelp meeeeeeeeeeee"
((Lauren Rowe continued from Borrowed Time))
Time was running out.
That's what she had told herself, that's what she still believed. And yet, time hadn't ended for her, not yet, and despite the growing urgency that kept her moving, one step after another, she had nothing to show for it all. She'd traced a path across the island, all the way across to the west, then all the way back east. Eating, sleeping when she could. Still nothing.
Another day past.
Another day wasted.
How many days did she have left before it was all over, before she realized that she was a failure for not even accomplishing the one thing she had to do?
Kelly was dead. Iselle had killed Sven.
She didn't know why. No reasons were given, nothing that she would believe from the man on the intercom. She didn't trust him, only knew Survival of the Fittest enough to believe the killers and the killed.
Carmina was dead.
Lauren knew she was most likely going to die. What chance did she have, with a weight bar, when a girl with a flamethrower didn't make it past the first two days?
She'd failed the girl with the hope of escape, she had realized a while ago. She was supposed to deliver the note, not the message. She hadn't understood. She'd dropped the note. Maybe that plan was doomed, just because of her. Failure to communicate. But there was nothing she could do about that now.
Still moving. Always moving. Now through the entrance of a haunted house, cursory examination, then on to greener pastures. Probably west again, to check out the other two newly cleared danger zones.
She had to find the softball girls. She knew they could stick together, tough it out. As long as they looked out for their own, they would be better off than everyone else, and well, not many would stand against them. She doubted those who did would live.
She had her friends, and she had her plan, and if they weren't already following it she knew they had the drive to be already doing something worthwhile. If she helped them, if they helped each other, they could make it. One of them could. Probably not her, but together they had a better chance than everyone else.
It was foolish, she knew, to just go off murdering and killing, because that drew attention. Attention was never what Lauren had wanted, and it wasn't what any of them needed right now, when attention was just an excuse to get killed. So no, no unnecessary risks, no letting emotions get out of control just to rack up a kill count that had no direct correlation to actually living. She wasn't looking for a fight.
But if it came to blows, she knew whose lives she valued most.
She kept moving, past wax statues, past paper ghosts, past a coffin upside down on the floor. If she didn't find them, she knew she was going to die trying. She hadn't come this far to give up now.