The longer she survived, the more uncertain she was of her own remaining sanity. How many people had they lost? How many had she seen die? It was hardly the first time she’d seen death up close and personal, nor the first time she’d seen as much bloodshed, but this was different. These were friends, colleagues, acquaintances -- heroes, in a lot of ways. And more than that, there didn’t seem to be any way out of their circumstances. That part left her feeling desperate and lost.
Claire pushed her hair out of her face and sighed. She could use a hot shower. She wanted to sit under a stream of the hottest water she could handle, and wait until steam filled the room and blotted out the rest of the world. She wished she could wash it all away -- the dirt, the memory of Matt’s lifeless body, the sounds of people screaming.
She shuddered. Was it even worth a win, at this point? She knew she’d still be saddled with the memories of what she’d seen, and that wasn’t something she wished on anyone.
But she could just go home, she thought. If she won and went back to Atlantis, she could have them send her home. She’d lose the months she’d spent with Matt, all the memories of the friends she’d made and lost, but she’d be alive. The beaches of Cuba called to her. The streets of New York City called. She could go home.
Maybe. There were a lot of what-ifs, and Claire remembered what Edmund said. They couldn’t trust COS, even on that front. There was no telling what might happen at the end of it all.
It’d been seven days since Matt had died. She was pretty sure, at least. Time had gotten fuzzy in the days since, between the changes of scenery and all of the loss. She picked up a stick and scratched another line into the soft skin on her wrist to mark the passage of time, even though she knew it was a stupid thing to do, a pointless risk of infection, but she didn’t want to end up forgetting.
Claire knew she should try to eat something, that she should keep her strength up, but she was tired. She was tired of watching people fight a war that seemed endless. She was tired of losing people she loved. She was tired of feeling hopeless. She wanted something good to hold onto, but everything had slipped out of her grasp. Slowly, she rolled up the shirt she’d stolen off Matt before they could take him away, and she curled up in a patch of sunlight, the shirt underneath her head, pressed against her cheek. She could find something to eat later, she thought. Later --
Somewhere behind her, an animal growled. All of the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and Claire opened her eyes, frozen in place. Was she supposed to run? Stay put? She couldn’t remember. It wasn’t like there were many wild animals in New York City to run from. Above, something screeched as it jumped from branch to branch, and she heard the rumble of heavy footfalls coming from her left.
Run, Matt’s voice told her.
She scrambled to her feet and took off across the clearing just as a leopard burst through the underbrush right behind where she’d been. It stopped to sniff the shirt, and when Claire looked back over her shoulder, the shirt was in rags in its mouth.
Claire kept running, but she knew she couldn’t outrun a leopard. The only thing that bought her a little time was a gorilla, a huge silverback charging into the clearing. She heard the scuffle, but this time she didn’t look back.
If she had, she would’ve seen the leopard disentangle itself and slip free. She would’ve seen it disappear back into the jungle like a shadow. She would’ve known she was still being hunted.
She felt its claws on her back first, and then its teeth in her shoulder, and then she didn’t feel anything else at all.