Blind Visionary [John Murphy x OC; Becca's Island]

Chapter 3

 "So I spent 86 days locked in a bunker just to end up here..."

Again, I shut John out and continue striking the thin flint over the bush of dried leaves I gathered earlier in the week. He won't shut up and all I can think about is hearing him for the first time, the twig snapping, his body passing across my vision...

Everything changed in that second.

"Just untie me-"

"Would you shut up already?" I snap, twisting my neck back to face him. My face feels contorted, overcome by a sense of anger I've never felt.

John stops speaking and I expect him to retract and be silent for just a moment. But he fights back. Harder than before. The anguish in his eyes grows darker as his sharp jaw clenches, teeth pressed together, and his arms pull away from the wall - he's trying to break free.

I have no choice but to stand and search for a quick solution. It's hard to concentrate under the pressure of his yelling. His anger emanates off his helpless body, piercing me and urging me to freeze. Instead, I grab his coat that lay on the ground.

"Just fucking untie me," he manages between breaths, grunting with every jolt of his body. I stand before him, jacket in hand, and watch as he kicks and twists with no luck.

"If you break out of those ropes, John," I say in a calm voice masking my shaken, "I'll have no choice but to kill you."

He urges his shoulders forward in one last effort to escape, but ultimately gives up as I walk behind him, place the chest of the jacket over his mouth, and tie the sleeves tightly behind his head.

"I don't want to hear your voice again today, you understand?"

He doesn't offer any response - no nod of the head, no mumbled understanding, just a dead fire in his eyes that looks like defeat.

I go back to work on the dried leaves which soon house a tiny spark. I drop the flint and grab another handful of dead grass. Positioning myself parallel to the ground, I blow gently on the spark, watching white smoke stream upward, growing as I cover the fire with additional foliage. My father taught me how to build a fire before I could walk. The Queen ordered that every child know basic survival skills so we could focus on fighting when we were of age.

I never made it that far, thankfully. I don't think I possess the darkness it takes to take another human life. I suppose that's why I silenced him - maybe he truly thinks I will kill him.

And maybe I will if I need to.

***

The room is warm now, the fire cracking and glowing, bouncing to each side as I walk past. A beautiful aroma of fresh herbs and salty meat dizzies me. The rabbit I caught this morning simmers in the stew above the fire along with some greens, freshwater onions, and any edible flowers I could find. John has fallen asleep on the chair. His neck bends forward in a way that's too uncomfortable to look at. But I do - I look at him. For as long as he sleeps, I will look at him. Because I haven't seen a boy in years - longer than I've been in this dugout. It took my aunt and I months to get through the Deadzone. The only boy I saw there was covered in fabrics that shielded his face from the dangerous white sunlight. And the island was void of humans. Well, sane humans that is. They were all chipped.

I don't consider them human.

Quietly, I move to his side and undo the knots behind his head, letting the jacket drop to the floor. John's mouth parts open slightly as he breathes shallow in his sleep. I watch the contour of his hollowed cheeks puff with each exhale. I wonder if he's been chipped. If he was sent here by the woman to slowly gain my trust, just to rip everything away.

To be safe, I move to the opposite side of the room where a large bucket is overflowing with scrap metal - tiny shards the size of my finger, flat square blocks, and fragments of short chains. If I can garner enough force, I might be able to shape the scrap metal to match the chains, creating one long metal rope. I grab the medium sized stone that fits perfectly in my hand - I found this one years ago and have kept it ever since. It's perfect for shaping metal or digging in the dirt. The tough grainy texture creates a grip for my skin.

I place one shard of thin rusted metal and place it on the edge of the table. Raising it above my head, I send my hand down, aiming the rock for the tiny bit of metal that hangs over the surface. With a loud bang, it barely bends the metal at all. I try once more, gritting my teeth and grunting as the rock hits the metal. Still barely any movement.

"Fuck," I curse, dropping the rock and staring at the metal pieces, defeated. There has to be a better way.

"You know, I could help you if you'd untie me."

John sits awake in the chair, rotating his neck to relieve it of the pain with a twinge of discomfort on his face. I shake my head no to his offer and try once again.

"What are you trying to do, anyway?"

"I'm trying to help you," I answer. I pick up a piece of the thin metal, examining it in the firelight. He scoffs behind me.

"Help me?" Another laugh. "That's rich. Yeah, how about you help me by taking that knife you stole from me and cutting these ropes?"

I watch as he rolls his eyes before looking up at me through his dark lashes. His brows are furrowed low on his forehead that beads with sweat. His brown eyes flicker green in the moving light of the fire. They say so much.

"Trust me, if I can get this metal to work, you'll be a much happier man."

He raises a brow, curiously confused.

"Oh great," he scoffs. "What are you insinuating."

I roll my eyes, dismissing his jokes.

"If I can get this metal to work, you can sleep on the floor. You can walk around the room. But not without this chain locking you inside."

At first, he rebuttals with more anger, more insulting glares, more absurdity. But slowly, his face softens and his eyes retract, and he offers a small shrug.

"Sounds good to me," he agrees. "But let me just ask you one question."

I stand before him, waiting.

"Why don't you trust me?"

I stare at the boy, my eyes dancing around his face looking for any signs of a joke. Even though I laugh, I can't find any.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"I am."

I turn my head slightly, moving a strand of blonde hair caught in my vision and wait hopelessly to be transported to anywhere but here. I can't count on my hand the number of people who've asked me that question. Right before they screw me over.

I'm not that naive girl anymore.

"John, I will never trust you."