WHO: Brandon and Charlie WHAT: Two angry people about to do something stupid coming to their senses. WHERE: I'M ON A BOAT! En route to Ellis Island. WHEN: January 12th, evening. RATING: Medium for language, at least, and thoughts of violence. STATUS: Complete.
Charlie was pissed. Beyond pissed. She was absolutely goddamn furious, and not just at the Ellis Island crazies. No, more than that, she was pissed at herself. Hadn't she learned by now not to kick the hornet's nest? Of course the crazy people who shot on sight would be pissed off. But she hadn't been the one to get stung, to "pay". It was the dozens of people lying dead and wounded at Liberty Island while she went and fought zombie alligators in the sewers. They were dead, and it was her fault; as much as she tried to put on a brave face to Stone and O'Brien, the guilt twisted inside her stomach until she felt nauseous.
She had sworn, on the day she'd lost her brother, that nobody else was going to die because of her. And now she had an entire massacre on her hands. Just another Charlie West fuck-up special, she thought to herself, staring over the side of the boat she sat in.
How the hell had everything gone to shit in just one day? It felt like one second, things were 'normal'-- or as normal as the apocalpyse could be-- and she was just as rough and unattached as normal. Then they'd found that fucking slip of paper and her world had spun on its axis. Charlie had been furious, ready to rally the troops and declare war on everything the government stood for, at the mere thought of herself or anyone else being some sort of breeding stock. And before she'd even had a chance to process what that meant, to warn anyone, her world had done another turn. The fucking psychopaths had attacked a safehouse when it was most vulnerable, when most of the Immune were out in the sewers. There were dozens dead, maybe more, and her rage had reached a boiling point.
Her hands itched, like they couldn't stay still, and she checked the scope of the rifle in her lap for the umpteenth time. After their library planning session, Charlie had suggested they leave from the mainland and circumvent Liberty entirely. There were too many people, she'd reasoned, and someone would get suspicious if they showed up and then left; not to mention the crazies would be expecting an attack to be launched from Liberty. Of course, that wasn't the real reason. The real reason had less to do with tactics and more to do with a particularly stubborn southerner.
Christ. That had been a complication she hadn't foreseen. He was tenacious, she'd give him that, because nothing seemed to convince him that she was trouble to be around, trouble to get close to. She'd let herself get far too attached and it really, really needed to stop, for her own sanity. Hell, she probably would have told the same to Stone if she thought it'd do much good, but Stone was too much like her. The only reason she was agreeing to go with Brandon was because she knew if stopping him wasn't an option, she had to make sure he came back alive. She didn't want to be responsible for someone losing their sibling like she had lost hers. Plus, he'd be just as vicious as her when it came to putting a bullet in the skull of every single person in that Ellis Island safehouse.
Not for the first time, she wondered if she was picking the right enemy to fight. The crazies were crazy, but... so far, they hadn't planned to use her as some sort of human puppy mill.