Perhaps We'll Meet Another Day

Say Your Prayers

So much death. So much needless death.

Law stepped onto the grass, eyes glued to the countless piles of bodies, both clothed and naked, covered in the ever-growing puddles of blood surrounding them. Half of the open clearing where most of the residents would relax for dinner or simply to converse between each other, was stained red with their dark red blood. Flies swarmed on and over the corpses, buzzing annoyingly about what was once the people who'd been around them over the past month.

Behind him, Shachi and Penguin reluctantly left the trailer, stopping at the gruesome sight awaiting them. One of them gagged at the pungent, metallic scent of blood that permeated the very air, but Law could not find it in himself to tear his eyes away from the bullet holes riddling the sides of the nearest trailers, or the way some of the corpse's eyes were still open, staring into the sky as if they were only stargazing.

The moon's light was the only thing, besides the low-dying fire, to illuminate the scene, the rest of the forest covered in darkness. The eerie stillness of the camp was unsettling, and Law's squelching footsteps sounded ten times louder in his ears than what they probably were. The silence was so deafening, it felt disrespectful to make any noise at all. The ground beneath his feet sunk slightly from all the wetness, and he wandered over to the first pile of corpses.

Alejandro and Terence from the construction team. Shachi and Penguin gasped at the sight of their friends dead, but Law moved on to the next person, then the next, eyes searching the faces for anyone who may still be alive. His hopes were dying on anyone living through the horror that took place here, seeing no fluttering eyelids or shuttered breathing of any kind from the bodies laying there.

Pile after pile Law searched, finding no survivors. It didn't surprise him that much to realize that they were the only ones to live. The world was just cruel like that. Or kind, depending on how you looked at it, especially considering he hadn't lost his two dearest friends. Small victories.

Finally, his feet took him to Margaret's corpse, lying face first in the ground where she'd been shot. With his foot, he turned her body over, sickened by the dead weight of what had once been a living person not two hours ago. Corpses had never bothered him, even in the world before, but seeing a fresh one, and of someone he'd known at that, was discouraging and depressing to say the least. The bullet had gone straight through the middle of her forehead, and her face was lax in a neutral expression, eyes still open in what he could only describe as a creepy way.

For awhile, he simply stared, wondering what she'd say if she still could. Cry that it wasn't fair? Mourn her luck? Pray that her sins had been forgiven? Curse him for bringing all of this on them? No, this wasn't on him. Technically, it was on Lexi, though he couldn't see any fault in her actions or reasonings. Though when it all came down to it, this was Damien's doing, through and through, giving Law all the more reason to loathe the man.

The color from a Margaret's face had mostly faded, and her body was beginning to swell. He supposed he should feel worse about her death, but Law couldn't bring himself to entirely care. She'd been a thorn in his side ever since they arrived, even more so after the little trip they took together, but that didn't necessarily call for her death. Perhaps he'd lost more of his humanity than he'd claimed earlier that morning to this same woman.

Finally turning away from Margaret's upturned and staring eyes, Law swept his gaze across the empty trailers. There were no heads peeking out from the doorways. No cowering residents who'd managed to hide from the tragedy like they had. Nothing to indicate survivors of any kind. By this time, he knew it was pointless to look, but a part of him deep down, the part he thought had died along with the world, hoped that someone, anyone, was still alive here with them.