UFSW Hunger Games/Issue 11

This is Issue 11 of ''UFSW Hunger Games. ''It is written by Walkerbait22.

Issue 11
Ash sits on the ledge of some crumbling building, his legs dangling over the edge. It’s the next morning, and his mind can’t drift away from thoughts of PJ. If he had any goal during this entire game, it was to keep PJ safe. Not winning, not racking up a decent kill count. Just making sure, somehow, PJ was the one who made it out alive.

And he completely failed.

He might as well jump off this God damn building now. What does he get out of winning? He doubts he’d get any kind of fulfillment, but there’s some thought in the back of his head, nagging at him that he needs to go on. He reaches for the crossbow leaning against the ledge on his right, but freezes in place before he can grab the weapon. Harsh voices penetrate his ears, although they seem to be a good distance away. He looks up quickly and sees two familiar figures walking side by side down the otherwise empty street.

“We’re really going through with this? You serious?” Alfred asks, and he picks up his pace to catch up to Cole.

“You thought I was joking?” Cole asks. He walks with his hands deep in his pockets, his tired, savage eyes fixed forward on the horizon. The view is soon replaced by Alfred, who stops himself in front of Cole, forcing him to halt as well.

“I thought you were just--you know--saying whatever ‘cause you were pissed. I thought you would’ve changed your mind by morning.”

“I’m not changing my mind.”

“Listen, man, seriously. It’s not worth--” He’s cut off when Cole grabs him by the shirt, pulling him forward harshly.

“I thought you deserved a second chance, so we gave you one. But now you’re really getting on my fucking nerves, and if you’ve got any doubts about this, you should probably go.”

Alfred swallows hard and swats Cole’s hand away. He backs up a few feet and smooths down his shirt. “Want me to leave, then?” Alfred asks.

“I want you to stop complaining about everything. There’s no reason for you to be here if you’re gonna keep running your mouth.”

“What the hell happened to playing the game? I thought that was your fucking mantra and now you’re throwing it away to find one guy?”

“That one guy could have--!” His sentence is cut short by an arrow whizzing past his head. He and Alfred both duck as the arrow ricochets off a nearby building. Looking up, they see a figure on the roof of an adjacent building flee from sight. Cole can only get a glimpse of the person, but he’s strikingly familiar.

“Come on,” Cole says, and he sprints across the street and toward the building. With no other choice, Alfred hesitates, but follows him into the front doors.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” Ash mutters as he bounds down the stairs. He thought he could get the taller guy, but he can’t believe his shot was a complete miss. Now he knows they saw him, there’s no mistaking it. Fearful of pursuit, he jumps the stairs three at a time and lands roughly on his feet. He’s struggling to regain his balance when he hears the pounding of footsteps approaching up the staircase. Ash groans quietly and spins around, up the steps once again.

Cole hears someone descending the steps, completely sure it’s that little shit with a crossbow. When he hears the footsteps retreating, he picks up his pace, Alfred struggling to keep up behind him. As he turns onto the next floor, he catches a glimpse of the figure’s sneakers and follows the sound of his ragged breathing.

“Stop!” Cole shouts and, surprisingly, he immediately hears the footsteps cease. He thinks it’s a good thing until he freezes in his tracks at the sight of a long-haired teenager holding a crossbow to his face. Alfred nearly runs into Cole, before stopping as well.

Ash’s finger hovers eagerly over the trigger. “You’re like a fucking plague, man. Can’t get rid of ya,” Ash says to Cole. A brief moment of recognition flashes over Cole’s face. This kid was with the old fuck that has Billie.

“Where’s the old guy?” Cole asks, disregarding the fact that his life is in danger.

“Ditched him.”

“Where is he? There was a blonde girl--he took her, right? Where?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“You ditched him, you’ve got nothing to lose,” Cole says, his voice rising slightly. “I want nothing to do with you. I just want to find her, and find him.”

“Bro, she’s dead. Arrow right between the eyes, buddy, from this crossbow. Shoulda taught her not to be so damn trigger happy.”

Cole has to resist the urge to lunge at him; the rage that fills him suddenly threatens to boil over, but he keeps himself composed. “You killed her?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?”

Cole pounces on him so fast Ash barely has time to react. He manages to press down on the trigger of the crossbow before Cole tackles him to the ground, but the arrow still penetrates Cole’s side. Cole lets out a grunt of pain, but his rush of adrenaline aids him in ignoring the agony. Alfred watches, frozen on the stairwell, unsure of what his next course of action should be.

Cole easily overpowers Ash and digs his knee into his chest. Ash feels his lungs contracting, air struggling to get through. Cole delivers a punch to his face, knocking Ash’s head back. Another blow, then another, until a steady stream of blood pours down his nose. Ash feels slightly dazed; he knows Cole is saying something to him, but he can’t quite make it out.

“Wake up,” Cole demands, and he slaps Ash across the face. This makes him come to slightly, and Cole grabs him firmly by the chin. “Where’s the guy you were with?”

“Miami. I heard….it’s nice this time of year,” Ash says with a lopsided grin.

“Yo, Cole. Chill, man,” Alfred says, daring to step forward. However, his words are insignificant, and Cole completely ignores him. Cole gives Ash another punch to the nose, and Ash spits up some blood on the floor next to him.

"Just...tell me where he is!" Cole demands once again. The pain in his side is no longer subsided; any second now, he's expecting the repercussions of that arrow to hit him full force.

Ash looks Cole in the eye and then laughs. This guy doesn't know Conner's a fucking madman. He wants to go after him? Might as well be signing his own death sentence. "You want fucking information?" Ash spits out. "Last I saw he was in an office building a few blocks east of here. Four stories, black, can't miss it. Good luck, asshole."

Cole burns the directions and description into his mind before focusing every ounce of his anger towards Ash. His hands naturally wrap around Ash’s throat, increasing the strength of his grip as time goes on.

Alfred watches, horrified. This kid can't be more than 18, 19--and Cole's squeezing the life out of him like he enjoys it. His pity for this stranger and his sudden hate for Cole leads him to make a wild decision.

Alfred grabs Cole by the shoulders and throws him back to the ground. Ash gasps for air as Cole's grip on his throat is released. Cole looks up at Alfred with the most hateful eyes Alfred as ever seen. But if Alfred is going to save this kid, he can't chicken out just because of some cold stare. Alfred locks eyes with Ash and shouts, "Go!"

Once Ash realizes what's going on, he scrambles to his feet, making sure to grab his crossbow. He nearly slips on his own blood, but he manages to rush past them and sprint down the stairs, making sure to give Alfred a silent nod of thanks as he does.

Alfred's still so shocked over the sudden strength that came over him, that he takes his mind off of Cole for just a second. This gives Cole the time to deliver a kick to Alfred's stomach. Alfred clutches his abdomen, but the blow wasn't strong enough to incapacitate him. Before Cole can get to his feet, Alfred instinctively kicks, and the bottom of his shoe connects with Cole’s face. There's a loud crunch with the impact, and Cole's eyes roll to the back of his head before he falls backward, unconscious.

Alfred's hand hovers over the pistol in his waistband. Looking at Cole's motionless body, he realizes this is someone completely broken and changed by these games. What's stopping him from putting a bullet in his head? As much as he thinks Cole's sick mindset of 'playing the game' is beyond changing, this is still the person that took him in after Lionell and Walter's deaths. And he and Billie did give him a second chance.

"C'mon, Alfred..." he mutters to himself, reaching for the pistol. He nearly retrieves it, but stops himself. He won't do it. He's already got the burden of killing one man following him; can he take the weight of another person's life on his shoulders?

He sighs and, with a bit of hesitation, turns and makes his way swiftly down the stairwell.

Lilly can’t believe she’s on her own again, losing the only people she had a connection with here in less than a day. She managed to escape those walkers from earlier by taking refuge on the second floor of this store. She sits alone in an old supply closet, and after a while, it seems like the walkers have ceased all attempts to reach her. All is silent.

She’s at a loss; she has no idea what she can possibly do now.

Then, her thoughts wander to Scott. She feels terrible for being so harsh to the kid before, and then he goes and sacrifices himself for her. Guess he wasn’t so much of a coward after all. Everyone’s dead now, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

That thought makes an unusual feeling stir up inside of her. She has to win this, for Adam, for Morgan. Even for Scott. Hell, especially for Scott. If it wasn’t for him, she wouldn’t be here right now, but probably have a bullet in her skull.

She has one pistol, and she’s going to make every bullet count.

Cole wakes up a few hours in the same stairwell, which is illuminated only by the sunlight beaming through a small window. He groans, then tries to sit up. He's instantly met with an unbearable stabbing pain, and he looks down to see the arrow sticking out of his side, dried blood on the tip. He reaches his fingers to his nose and winces. He can feel that it's crooked, sitting at a weird angle on his face. No way is he trying to put that back into place. But he has to do something about that arrow.

"Fuck..." he mutters, preparing for the pain that's about to bombard him. Cringing, he reaches for the arrow and tightens his grip on the end. He takes a few deep breaths, then pulls it out in one swift motion. The arrow rips through his side and the brief pain is almost enough to make him pass out again. He tosses the arrow to his side and places a hand over the wound. At least the first of his problems is dealt with. But his initial plan still hasn't changed: he has to find Billie's kidnapper, and that kid.

And maybe Alfred, too.

Alfred is suddenly regretting his decision of turning on Cole. He wonders if he’ll ever wake up from the kick to the face. What if he killed him by accident and he doesn’t even know it? “Don’t be so fucking stupid…” Alfred says to himself, and he halts his walking to sit on a curb.

He has no idea how he’s going to win this game. For once, he thinks Cole and Billie might have been right. Is playing the game really so bad? Maybe not, if it gets him out of here alive. Might be time to change his ways…

Conner sits alone in an empty office building, his mind wavering between thoughts of Kim, Ash, PJ, and even little Ash. Looks like Ash left him to fend for himself. He honestly was warming up to kid, but now it’s obvious the feeling isn’t mutual. PJ’s death must’ve really struck a nerve, but Conner thought he would’ve gotten over it, eventually. He hopes he at least taught the kid the best way of going through this game, so he isn’t completely hopeless while he’s out there alone.

Alone, like Conner is now. After years of roaming the apocalyptic Boston on his own, he’s back to square one again. Everyone he ever gets close to finds a way to leave him, somehow. It’s a thought that sours his mood immediately, and he finds he’d rather just stay cooped up in here rather than going back out there and dealing with death and destruction some more. Twenty five years of this apocalyptic life, and he’s had enough of it. He’s going to end this game, and he’s going to end it soon. Even if it means he only has to end it for himself.

Cole traverses the streets of D.C., alone for the first time. It feels weird, not having anyone by his side, but at least there’s no one to interfere with his plan. Thinking back to Alfred still makes him seethe with anger, but he tries to push those feelings down and focus on his goal of finding this guy.

He nears the black building Ash describes, but now that it’s been hours, he’s pretty sure the guy he’s looking for won’t be there anymore. He contemplates going in, but with the building’s size and his wound slowing him down, he can’t help but think searching for him in there will be a waste of time. “Dammit,” he says, and he plops down on a nearby bus stop bench. He’s hit another dead end….where do you go from here?

Sitting there for a while, thinking of another plan of action, the pain in his side and face begins to subside. He’s thinking about how pathetic he must look right now when he hears the heavy screeching of an old door opening to his right. Someone’s emerging from the black building, head held low, a grey, unkempt beard on his face. Cole bolts from the bus stop and behind a nearby car. He ducks down, his heartbeat increasing excitedly at the sight of the man.

As Conner exits the building, some movement on his left catches his eye. He inspects the area around the nearby bus stop for a few moments, but he doesn’t see anything else. He would usually do more, maybe check out if it was a squirrel or something more sinister, but all he wants to do now is find somewhere else to stay. Today isn’t the day for conflict for him.

Cole peeks his head out and sees Conner turn the other way, scratching his beard. Conner's eyes look more tired than usual, filled with more osrrow than their usual wickedness. Cole’s eyes, though, take on a menacing quality as he crouches from behind the car and begins his pursuit of Conner.

Ken can’t believe more walkers are in pursuit of him. He can’t get rid of them, no matter how many alleys he cuts through or buildings he hides in. Currently, he stumbles through a narrow alley, sprinting impulsively to get away from the walkers chasing him. His heart threatens to burst out of his chest, he’s so unbelievably tired. He’s not sure how long he should go on, or where he should even go. Risk running for a few more minutes and hope he doesn’t run into another cluster of them when he turns the corner?

And that’s exactly what happens. “Oh, what the fuck!?” Ken shouts at the sight of another group of walkers on the next street. He spins and runs back down the road, in the other direction. A vacant apartment catches his attention, and he sprints through the front door and slams it shut behind him. He hears a groan to his left, and turning his head he finds a walker eyeing him, its head tilted to the side. Ken kicks it in the torso, knocking it to the ground, then stomps on its head a couple times to let out his frustration.

The walkers still bang on the door, but it doesn’t look like they’ll get through anytime soon, so Ken proceeds through the apartment building. He takes slow, careful steps, listening out for any possible walkers still hiding out here. However, he halts immediately when he hears a shout from outside that breaks up the repetitiveness of the groans.

After about 45 minutes of walking, Conner decides it’s about time to choose a new hideout. There are an assortment of options around him. A small convenience shop with an apartment attached to the top, a toy store, a record shop. He decides on the toy store after a few seconds of thinking; he approaches it, then cups his hands over his eyes and peeks through the front window. A walker shambles around inside, and Conner is actually happy at the sight of it. He hasn’t seen many roaming around this area, but now’s about the perfect time to take his anger out on something. He opens the front door of the toy store, and a pleasant bell rings, indicating his entrance.

The walker’s ears perk up at the sound of it, and its eyes focus on Conner. Conner certainly has the upper hand, and he takes the butt of his pistol and smashes it across the walker’s face. Soon, he’s crouched over it, whacking away mercilessly. Cole watches from behind an adjacent building, his head peeked around the corner. This guy has completely lost his mind, but at least it looks like he’s camping out somewhere. The perfect time for Cole to strike.

Conner finishes up his assault, then falls onto his backside. He holds his head in his hands and sighs. He asks himself how he got to such a low point. Starting with the two people closest to him, losing them too soon, managing to build bonds with those two kids…and now he’s here, one of those kids dead and the other God knows where. What does he get out of winning this game, besides the fact that he failed three more people? Two of them kids, no less. His gun’s loaded. There’s not a thing stopping him from putting that barrel to his head and pulling the trigger.

He looks down at the gun. It sits limply in his hands. He wants to end it. He really does. But the front window shatters before he can make the choice, and bullets fire into the front of the store, non-stop. Conner covers his head with his arms to shield himself from the falling glass. He scrambles to his feet, noticing Cole too late. Cole has entered through the front door, and before Conner can react, Cole smashes the barrel of his gun across Conner’s jaw. Conner hits the floor, his face smashing into the tile.

Conner wakes up on the floor of a dark room, the walls lined to the ceiling with empty boxes. He moves his jaw around slowly. He thinks it might be knocked out of place, but right now, the pain isn’t too bad. As his eyes adjust to the darkness, he nearly jumps at the sight of Cole sitting on a box a few feet away from him.

“Think you might’ve knocked a few of my teeth out,” Conner says. He’s not tied up, and determines it’s because of Cole’s lack of supplies. But he doesn’t dare move. “You look mad. Had a bad day?” Conner smirks at him, but Cole rises, and the smile is knocked off of Conner’s face by a punch to the jaw. Cole is so overcome with the relief he gets from hurting him, he doesn’t stop at one punch. He delivers a few more, until Conner’s head hangs down limply. But he’s still conscious.

“This about the girl?” Conner asks, and he sighs. “You know what? I got my revenge. Go ahead, get yours. Kill me, I’m done with this shit anyway.”

Cole is surprised at his willingness to give up, but it doesn’t make him feel bad for Conner in the slightest. He slaps Conner across the face with the back of his hand, then crouches down to put the barrel of his gun under Conner’s chin. Yet, he can’t help but think about how unfulfilled he’ll be just ending this quickly. He wants to drag it out, make it hurt.

He’s thinking of the best way to put Conner through as much pain as possible when he hears a sudden bang at the front of the store. Startled, he turns his head; a bonehead mistake, as Conner gives him a quick punch to the gut. Cole’s pistol falls to the ground and Conner pushes him to the floor. Conner rushes to the door and flings it open. Before he can flee, Cole reaches for him and grabs ahold of his ankle. With a firm tug, Cole pulls Conner to the ground. Conner hits the hard floor with a thud.

Cole crawls over to him, but Conner turns onto his back and delivers a kick to Cole’s face. In his weakened state, the kick doesn’t have much power, so Cole bounces back quickly. Conner scoots backward, out the door and into the corridor, and when he looks left, he sees the walkers that have infiltrated the storefront. Cole notes his expression and knows the infected have made their appearance. Still, he knows he can’t let that distract him to much from his ultimate goal of giving Conner what he deserves.

Ash, his lip busted and small scratches covering the majority of his face, knows he saw someone enter that apartment building. A kid about his age, having a bit of trouble with the biters. He must’ve been injured, because, to Ash, a group of biters this size isn’t really a problem, especially now that he has his crossbow. He fires at two, the arrows easily going through their rotten skulls. “C’mon…” he says as the others approach him. Reloading with another arrow, he fires, then repeats the process three more times, until all his arrows have been used up. The last few shouldn’t be too hard to deal with; he uses the crossbow to smash one across the face, then the next one. He focuses on the last two. For the first one, he gives it a swift kick behind the knees, effectively knocking it to the ground. For the other, he kicks it in the stomach, reaches down to pull an arrow from another biter’s head, and stabs the tip of the arrow between its forehead, all in a matter of seconds.

His brief assault leaves the front door of the apartment clear of biters, but the ones that pursued Ken earlier are still on his tail. He quickly retrieves the rest of his arrows and stuffs them into his pack before slowly opening the apartment door.

Ken’s breaths comes in quiet, shallow bursts as he hides under the stairwell of the apartment. He can hear Ash’s footsteps approaching, his crossbow tight in hand. Ken has to do something. Should he just attack him, take him by surprise?

Ken clenches his fists together a few times, a futile attempt at building up his courage. With a yell, Ken emerges from his hiding spot and lunges at Ash. “Holy sh--” Ash starts, but Ken already has him pinned to the ground. An arrow shoots from the crossbow, but the shot is a total miss, and the arrow juts out of the wooden stairs next to them. Ken reaches for it, keeping his knee pressed to Ash’s chest. He grabs the arrow and hovers the tip over Ash’s forehead, but Ash has Ken grabbed by the wrists, pushing the weapon away.

Ash twists Ken’s wrist hard, and Ken lets out a small screech. He tumbles onto his side and drops the arrow, giving Ash the sudden advantage. Ash attempts to roll over on top of him, but Ken pushes his knees up, sending Ash backwards. Ken rises to his feet, as does Ash, and for a few tense moments, they lock eyes.

Ash raises his fists with the smallest smirk on his face. Ken doesn’t look as amused. His nostrils flare and his face is a bright red. He wants to end this now. He yells and runs toward Ash, but Ash manages to bolt left in the small space. He grabs Ken by the shoulders and yanks him backward, forcing him to stop. He grabs onto Ken’s hair and pulls his head back, then, eyeing the small window to their left, smashes Ken’s face through the glass. Ken screams agonizingly and Ash releases his grip on his hair.

Ken clutches at his face; bits of glass riddle his skin and he covers his face, his screams unceasing. Ash picks up his crossbow and retrieves the arrow from the floor. Ken mutters some incoherent pleas that only make Ash scoff. He loads the crossbow, stands over Ken, and pulls the trigger.

“So...what now?” Leroy asks Amelia. He sets next to her on a lonely bench, a few feet of space between them. He can feel his trust slowly building for this woman; he know she shouldn’t let it, but she hasn’t done anything to hint that she’s not as good of a person as she makes herself out to be. She took him in, gave him food, stuck with him through the death of Joe. Even protected him against that guy that shot Rick.

Amelia responds with a dejected shrug. She has no idea how she’s going to keep this kid safe, but she knows she has to. Leroy pities her and the sorrow on her face. He should probably say something, after all he’s done for her. “Uh…” he begins. “I kind of wanted to say thanks, I guess. For letting me in and stuff. Just good to know everyone’s not...crazy.” He scratches his head awkwardly, and Amelia actually smiles.

“No problem, kid,” she says. She’s going through the next plan of action in her head, when she stands from the bench. “C’mon. No point in just sitting here.”

Leroy follows her lead, not really sure where they can go, when another thought pops into his mind. What if it’s only them left? What happens then? Would Amelia let him win...or will human instinct take over and she decides to take the victory for herself? He can’t allow himself to think like that, not now, when she’s the only person he’s got.

Amelia’s thinking nearly the same thing, how this kid is her last connection here. And in a sick twist of fate, a gunshot rings out, and Leroy falls face first on the ground with a bullet in the back of his head. Amelia shrieks, then hits the asphalt hard as a bullet whizzes above her. She crawls on the rough ground, behind a car. The passenger side window shatters, covering her in glass. She can still see Leroy’s body lying motionless on the ground, blood pooling around him from the wound in his head. Her eyes start to sting, and her vision is quickly blurred by tears.

She know she has no time to dwell on his death, not with a shooter threatening to blow her brains out. But she has to know the location of whoever’s following her, so she peeks her head out. She fills with a rage that's almost uncontrollable at the sight of Mark fucking Jones, jogging down the street toward her with a rifle.

Conner scrambles to his feet and sprints to the rear of the store. He can hear Cole’s footsteps pounding behind him, synchronizing with the rapid beating of his heart. Cole turns and fires a few shots toward the approaching infected.

Conner spots a door at the end of the corridor and rams his shoulder into it; it flies open and he’s met with a rusted steel staircase. Everywhere else is a dead end, so he bounds up the steps, Cole following him close behind. Cole fires a shot--his ears ringing in the enclosed space-- but Conner moves too fast. The bullet just ricochets off one of the steps. Conner turns onto the next floor, and the next, until he’s stopped by a metal door. He opens it and exits onto the roof of the store. He presses his back against the door before Cole can exit.

“Shit!” Cole shouts. He tries to push the door open, but Conner uses all of his strength to deter him. “You’re done--you’re trapped!”

If he can hold him off long enough, Conner thinks he might just give up. But he’s not sure how long his strength will last. It only takes a few more kicks of the door for Conner to give in, and the door swings open, making Conner stumble forward. Cole fires immediately, but Conner rolls out of the way. Cole fires again, but he’s only met with the click of his gun. He thought he had more bullets left, but during his reckless, angry pursuit of Conner, he must have been mistaken.

Conner smiles at the change in Cole’s expression when he realizes he has no more ammo. Conner rises to his feet and lunges at Cole. He grabs Cole by the shoulders and tosses him to the ground. The pain in his side explodes at his collision with the cement. Conner, finally noticing Cole’s weakness, kicks him repeatedly in his side, until Cole musters the last of his energy to grab Conner by the ankle, giving his leg a twist, and throws him to the ground.

Conner’s head smashes against the ground, and he scoots along his back, to get as far away from Cole as he can. His vision is blurry, and the bright, beating sun only makes his head pound even worse. He considers giving up, but he rises to his knees just as Cole gets to his feet. Conner doesn’t make a move. He just watches as Cole stumbles toward him, arm clutched around his abdomen. The maniacal look in his eyes, paired with his busted and bruised face, makes Cole look absolutely insane. Cole gives Conner a hard kick to the stomach, and Conner lurches forward.

Time to milk his injuries for all its worth.

“Please--just...I’m done. I quit,” Conner says, coughing. “Tired of this fuckin’ game...tired of it…” He notes Cole’s change in body language, how he hesitates to hit him again. Perfect.

Conner smashes his fist into Cole’s stomach before Cole can attack him again, and then rises from his knees and to his feet. He rams his knee right between Cole’s legs; Cole doubles over in agony, and Conner grabs him by the back of his shirt. Any energy he has left, Conner summons it. He’s got no weapon, nothing to kill Cole with, so this is his last option.

He tosses Cole over the edge of the building like a ragdoll. The volume of Cole’s screams only increase as he speeds toward the ground. They only stop when he collides with the cement. His eyes are open, staring up at the bright sun, but not an ounce of life left in them. The infected that surrounded the store snap their heads over to Cole’s dead body, groaning eagerly at their new feast.