(no subject)
They burn the stuffed animals - and it probably says something about Wichita that she's equal parts relieved and disturbed by the event, but she decides to attend, to make sure she watches as each carnival prize, all in varying stages of destruction, burn away as the bonfire rages on, button eyes and plastic melting and stuffing turning black under the flame before it too turns into ash. It's only a slightly comforting sight, and it's still serving to remind her that crazy shit like this happens all the time, without warning. Zell had mentioned the zombies arriving before, but somehow he'd been all too casual in his delivery, or at least more carefree about it than she thinks it deserves. How many people are ready for something like this if it happens again? she'd asked Columbus, wondering if any of the people she starts to care about will ever truly be prepared: Olive, Santana, Eduardo, Mark. They're all people she's starting to become closer to, and she blames herself for it, for letting each of them in long enough to start to care in the first place, because if something happens - God, this isn't how she's supposed to survive here. She isn't supposed to have to care about anyone else, to have to worry.
She makes sure to leave a note for Columbus this time (ever since the night she'd gone out for a run, she realized he'd almost started to think she had disappeared completely), but she only specifies as much as simply going for a walk, not really stopping to predict where she'll wind up. It ends up being the pier, on the western side of the island, the long one that stretches out over the water, and she walks to the very end, until she can sit down with her legs dangling over the side. She jams her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket, finds a joint in one, and lights up, giving herself ample time to inhale deeply, and keeps inhaling until the tension in her shoulders starts to ease.
The sound of footsteps behind her doesn't have her whirling around like she would be under normal, non-high circumstances, but she's still got the small pistol tucked into her waistband, if it turns out she needs to use it. She doesn't move to speak when the sound of footsteps stop and she senses someone standing over her, instead leaning back to brace her weight on one hand as the other lifts the joint to her lips.
She makes sure to leave a note for Columbus this time (ever since the night she'd gone out for a run, she realized he'd almost started to think she had disappeared completely), but she only specifies as much as simply going for a walk, not really stopping to predict where she'll wind up. It ends up being the pier, on the western side of the island, the long one that stretches out over the water, and she walks to the very end, until she can sit down with her legs dangling over the side. She jams her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket, finds a joint in one, and lights up, giving herself ample time to inhale deeply, and keeps inhaling until the tension in her shoulders starts to ease.
The sound of footsteps behind her doesn't have her whirling around like she would be under normal, non-high circumstances, but she's still got the small pistol tucked into her waistband, if it turns out she needs to use it. She doesn't move to speak when the sound of footsteps stop and she senses someone standing over her, instead leaning back to brace her weight on one hand as the other lifts the joint to her lips.