Fallacy

8

                  

If you don't hunt it down and kill it,

it will hunt you down and kill you.

― Flannery O'Connor

                  

Jett and Evander were arguing. Their voices slid across the sand in jagged waves pulling me from unconsciousness with their rhythm. I was groggy, overly lethargic.

How long had I been sleeping?

I couldn't tell. But the sun was high in the sky and if common sense had taught me anything I knew that it meant the day had well and truly begun.

"We have to go back in there," Jett said firmly. Evander paced, his footing nearly missed a beat.

"Are you kidding me? No. Absolutely not." He sounded exasperated. I could hear his voice zoning in and out as he walked rhythmically closer and farther from my position.

"And what? You think we should stay here, on the shore, like sitting ducks? I don't think so. The woods give us cover," Jett shot back at him, sitting down smoothly on a nearby log, arms folded across his chest.

Evan all but laughed. "The woods are filled with who knows how many dangers. The least of which are Damien. What about wild animals? Insects, snakes, worse." He circled Jett again, kicking sand up in front of him as he went. Quietly Evan mumbled something under his breath, just barely loud enough for anyone to register that he'd spoken at all.

Accusatory, Jett demanded, "Excuse me?"

Evan stopped pacing.

His eyes flashed with guilt for a moment, only a moment, before he squared his shoulders and looked at Jett as if he were indestructible. Then he said, "I never should have let you out."

Something stiffened then in Jett and his glare turned stony.

"If you convince me for even a second that you're a threat, I will not hesitate to hurt you. Kill you, even, if that's what it comes to." The confidence in Evan's expression faltered momentarily. I didn't blame him. Even in the small days I'd come to know Jett, it was already too obvious that he wasn't to be trifled with. He spoke with the kind of sincerity and wholeheartedness that came only with age, and hardship.

"That is some threat." Evan was clearly trying to hold up a strong front, but even sitting down Jett was the king of intimidation.

"That wasn't a threat," he responded airily. "It was a promise."

Evan opened his mouth to retaliate again but slowly clenched his jaw shut. The seashore breeze blew between us all, bristling our already unkempt hair into something even more unruly.

Finally he said, "Whatever, I'm in just as much danger as the three of you, if not more." And I knew he was right.

Jett didn't seem one-hundred-percent satisfied with his response, but at the same time it also never seemed to cross his mind to argue him on it further.

In the silence between their thoughts I found my voice again.

"Where's Lu?" The boys both jumped.

Oh. They hadn't known I was listening. Something brief flashed in Jett's eyes. Remorse? Shame? Maybe he didn't want me seeing him make threats. Though, I doubted that he'd ever tried to hide his daunting bluntness before. Either way it was too late. I brushed it off, let it roll over my shoulders like everything else, because I had to. Because if for even a millisecond I let myself be concerned, or realistic, or even half humane, I knew I would break down all over again. Survivors didn't break. They put tape over the cracks and covered up the ugly until they'd made it out of the mess. Then, and only then, they would confront the damage that had been done.