Fortune Favors the Brave

🩸 Chapter Three: Knockout 🩸

⚠️ TW: gore, sh scars (slightly mentioned), needles, swearing, ⚠️

"Do you think we'll be friends in the future?" West asks. I pierce my Converse's canvas exterior with my embroidery needle, finishing my spiderweb. "Of course, why would you think otherwise?" I chuckle softly. He sorts through my messy pencil case and pulls out a black sharpie and a gray mechanical pencil. "Gimme," He makes a grabbing motion with his hands towards my shoe. I give him my left foot and he begins to make a spider web outline in pencil on the toe tip. He goes over it with a sharpie.

His short, fluffy brown hair flows with the wind breeze as he draws on my shoe. "I wonder what we'll be like when we grow up..." He says, blurring and fading away.

"I wonder what we'll be like when we grow up..."

That sentence haunts me as my mind swirls with hundreds of thoughts. What happened? Are they okay? Are there any survivors? Is West okay?

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." Fern looks down at the blankets. My breath hiccups as I try to breathe. The room spins as I fall off the counter. My body goes limp. My vision goes dark. "Rowan! Rowan..."

~~~

"Rowan? Rowan, can you hear me?" I hear West's voice echoing through my mind. I open my eyes. I'm in a white room. There's no visible walls in sight. I stand up and look around. It's an empty, white void. "Hello?" I call out. I swivel my head around, "Hello?" I call out, beginning to panic. A tear glides down my cheek. I hear a THA-WUMP behind me. I turn to face the sound. My face goes pale.

It's a body.

I dart over to it. The blood pools under it. The body faces down. I crouch down, rolling it over to face me. I gasp audibly. No, no, no. It can't be. I refuse. His fluffy, brown hair has blood clumps drying it. His black Green Day shirt is drenched in blood. A kitchen knife stands upright in the middle of his stomach.

It's West.

I stand up. No, no, no. I shake my head. No, no, no. Big, blood red letters slowly begin to appear around me.

No, no, no, no, no, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!

Screams surround me, swallowing me whole.

I wake with a start. "Jesus, Rowan. We thought you died." Connor wipes his face with his glove. He stands and walks over to the shower. He fills a small pint with water and Dawn dish soap. He brings it over to me with a small sponge. "God, Rowan. You hit your head hard. You're bleeding." He dabs at the sore cut above my left eyebrow.

I wince as the soapy water makes its way into my cut.

I look around. The lights are blinding, the yellowish-hue. Wait, the lights are on. Why are the lights on? "Wh a lghts in?" My words come out slurred, as if I were drunk. I try to stand up. The world spins and rotates in my vision. "Wht te fu-" I fall back and Connor catches me. "Woah there, girl. Careful now. Here, take a seat." I sit down stiffly with a thud.

Jasper comes over to me with a cup of water, "Drink this." I take the cup from him and begin drinking it. It's only now that I realize how dry my throat is. I begin to chug the water. Water beads drop from the corners of my mouth. "Woah, slow down. You're gonna drown."

He chuckles lightly. I cough, "Why are t-the lights on?" I make out before coughing again. "How long have I been out?" I cough a little harder. I look up at Fern who almost looks annoyed that I woke up. Once she catches me looking, her face changes. It softens.

Light seeps through the boarded up windows. It's morning. It was sunset when I was last awake. "We checked the other classrooms in C hall. Most of them have either been wiped out or have evacuated. Some look like they had a free period," Connor sighs. I look at Fern, "How long have I been knocked out?"

I hear her breath hitch before she answers. "Around 12 hours..." My jaw drops. 12 fucking hours?! And she didn't wake me up? "WHY DIDN'T YOU WAKE ME UP?!" I yell at Fern. Her eyes go wide and I suddenly regret my decision. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do. I w-was scared."

A tear slips down her cheek and suddenly I feel guilty for the past 40 seconds.

I get wind of the lights again and my head throbs.

"It's okay, Fern. She's alright. Right, Rowan?" Jasper asks me. I contemplate if I am okay for a minute. I've been knocked out for over 12 hours, I have zero clue if anyone I care about is alive, and oh yeah, it's the apocalypse. Nah, I think I'm alright.

"As fine as a person in the apocalypse can be," I push down on the table in front of me for support and slowly stand up. I attempt to hobble over to the cracked mirror on the other side of the classroom.

I trace the eyebags under my eyes. My fingers make their way up to the cut above my eyebrow. I touch it without thinking and a wave of pain surges through me. "Fuck." I grimace from the pain.

It's only at this moment do I realize how filthy my fingers are. Dirt and blood are encrusted on my finger tips. I stagger over to what was formerly Ms. Barlowe's desk and run the sink.

"What are you doing?" Elena looks at me, then at the sink, then at my cut, then at me again. "Washing my hands, they're hella dirty."

Slowly, the pinkish-tan of my finger tips becomes visible. I look at my hands in detail. I look at the grooves in my fingernails. I look at the lines on my knuckles. I look at the scars on my arms. I look at all my little imperfections and wonder how I hated them not so long ago.

I may not know much right now, but what I do know is that Fern. Isn't . Safe.