In Need of Assistance? (TF2)

Seventy-Five: Solace

        "It's late. You guys better be getting to bed, we're waking you up as soon as sunlight hits," I warn. Salvador and his five other classmates move around in their room. We're taking a detour for night one. When we had hoped to pitch tents tonight, there were bear sightings, so we ended up pitching in a lodge for the night. We're just lucky they accepted my TF ID. Only boys signed up for this trip which is weird. I was almost certain that Tuesday would tag along as well since she expressed interest, but she didn't sign up. From the way the weather is going, we might have to go home early. It's been threatening to snow for a while, but it's all rain down here, and flash flood bulletins are everywhere. "Lock the door. Good night."

"Night, Momo."

"G'night, Miss Mwangi."

I close the door. Crickets chirp. The wood paneling creaks as I walk down back to my room three doors down. I glance at the rented Volkswagen, parked in the spot closest to my dwelling, with the trunk facing the building. Sniper's inside. I open the door and see him passed out on the floor. Facedown and vulnerable. At my mercy. He sleeps like a log, enough so that he didn't feel the needle I pricked his inner elbow with. Took an hour, but it finally worked. I grunt as I roll him over and prop him up against the bed, pulling his arm and grunting as I drag him onto my back. Someone knocks on the door, and I gasp lightly as I hobble with Sniper's deadweight. For now, I throw him onto the bed, pulling his shoes off to make it look natural before I open the door.

"Mikey, what do you need?" I ask.

He rubs his arm. "I need my insulin."

"Right, right, uh..." I could just bring it to him, but it's cold. "Come in."

He walks in and looks at Sniper, not paying much mind as I read labels again and hand him his medication. He has his own syringe on him, and he removes the cap before extracting his medication and squeezing stomach fat. He winces as he sticks himself and depresses the plunger. Keeping the needle there, Mikey hums and removes it after a few seconds, applying pressure to the injection site.

After capping the syringe again, Mikey leaves. I wait until I hear a door close before I go out to the van and open the trunk, pulling Sniper off of the bed and hugging him from behind to drag him outside. Sniper's heavier than what I remember Scout to be, and he's taller. His appendages are hard to manage as I shove him into the back of the van, compress him into the fetal position, and hogtie his hands and feet.

Salado Canyon Trailhead.

I have to make quick work of him. I dug a hole out in the canyon a week ago off of the trail. Under an overhang through bushes and shrubs. I lost track of my double. She's made the drive before, she's experienced, and I didn't want to risk her noticing me had I kept following her down Fresnal Canyon Road. I pull into the parking lot for the start of the trail. Three other cars sit in the parking lot, perhaps campers who came for leisure. It's pretty late, so I'm certain I don't risk getting caught. I have to be careful.

Clipping a flashlight to my chest keeps my hands free and allows me to hoist Mick onto my back. I close the van and start my trek.

This wasn't something I planned on a whim. Murdering Mick has been a priority for a while. For once, I get to act out my intrusive thoughts. What if I buried a man alive? Would he wake up midway? Does the dirt fill his lungs, or is he killed by the weight? Would he even know he's dying?

Like from a Sunday newspaper cartoon strip. Burying one's friend in the sand and leaving their head out. The claustrophobia I could imagine that sets in. Dark, cold, and alone with itches you can't scratch. Feeling helpless as you watch all of your friends laugh at your expense, pretending to walk away and leave you there as the sand is wet, and they got you in pretty deep. Digging a shallow coffin for you to sit in before they create the mound that would quickly become your prison. They're always so reluctant to help you when you say you've finally had enough. Try as you might, you only get so far in breaking out if your buddies are capable construction workers. They stand and watch you, waiting for that last exasperated "Guys... Please. Help." before they do anything to assist in your liberation.