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thetomorrowshow · 11 months

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hubris killed the god - ch 4

First Part

cw: body horror, discussion of death, violence, general apocalypse setting

Scott doesn’t get the full story until two days later, sitting around the campfire outpost as the sun sets. fWhip and Shelby are there with him—Jimmy’s on dinner duty, and Gem’s helping Katherine get settled in (though Scott’s fairly sure they’re actually just catching up and gossiping, having been invited to one or two of their late-night gossip sessions in days past).

“It was . . . one of their fights,” fWhip says carefully. He shrugs, glancing around as if Jimmy’s going to appear behind him and dispute his words. “You know how they were. Volatile. And—well, it escalated. And Jimmy . . . Joel ended up dead.”

“He won’t tell us how,” Shelby puts in. “But he killed Joel, and whatever curse Joel left behind turned his body into those . . . things.”

“Gem said that Jimmy came to her, a mess over it,” fWhip says. “He just let his anger get out of hand. He didn’t mean to.”

“If he didn’t mean to, he wouldn’t have killed him,” Shelby says, sing-song.

fWhip grimaces. “Well, we can disagree on that. The point is, Joel is dead, and his, uh, remains turned into the apocalypse. They multiply somehow, they feed on death, and . . . that’s about it. I do know that Jimmy’s still beating himself up over the whole thing, so don’t . . . don’t be too harsh.”

“Because if you are, he’ll kick you out.”

“For the last time, Jimmy didn’t kick Lizzie out!” fWhip says, turning to Shelby. “He didn’t—look, Scott,” he says, turning back. “Lizzie . . . she was close with Joel, you know, in some weird way, and she was really upset with Jimmy over it and the way he’s trying to move on. She decided she’d rather leave than stay here with him in charge.”

Scott pokes a stick at the small fire. “Did Lizzie have my room at the inn?” he asks, thinking of the note and the mouse toy that he placed on his bedside table.

“Yeah,” fWhip says. “She packed up and left about a week before we got you. Shelby went out on foot to check on Katherine the very next day.”

“I never made it,” Shelby says offhandedly. “By the time I reached the bridge, there were just . . . so many. I lost my voice, and I was so tired. . . .”

fWhip rubs her arm, and she leans into the touch, eyes far away. It’s a stark contrast to their arguing of moments ago, and while Scott can’t understand finding comfort in someone you’re at odds with, he at least agrees with fWhip’s instinctive touch-turned-hug. He would’ve done the same, his comfort-friend instinct going haywire.

“So . . . what’s next?” Scott asks after a moment. “We can’t just . . . Sanctuary’s getting smaller every day. We can’t just sit here.”

“I guess we ask Jimmy,” fWhip shrugs. Shelby rolls her eyes.

Jimmy? But—they all know what Jimmy’s done, now, they all know this is his fault. Why on earth have they been letting him lead this whole time?

“Wait, we’re still trusting him to be in charge?” says Scott, glancing between them. “He—he killed someone. He started this!”

fWhip sighs. Shelby looks away, her foot tapping against the dirt.

“Jimmy’s a good leader,” fWhip says. “Leaders sometimes make poor choices. And—and I know, killing someone is a very poor choice,” fWhip adds before Scott can speak, “but he has our best interests at heart. I promise that he won’t hurt any of us. But he’s the only one who stepped up to be leader, and he’s the best one we could ask for.”

Shelby shrugs. “I don’t like him, but he is good at what he does.”

fWhip leans his head on Shelby's shoulder, and, surprisingly, she leans back.

And then it clicks for Scott.

He’s been compartmentalizing since day one—packing away his grief and separating it from his everyday functions and feelings. He doesn’t have time to wallow. If they end up in a place where it’s safe, where he can finally rest and process everything, then he will. But he doesn’t have time to consider all the terrible things that happened. He has to survive.

That’s the attitude everyone is taking, apparently. They can deal with the horrible actions Jimmy has taken after they’re in the clear. They can fight amongst themselves, split off into friendships again, when everything is safe.

Shelby and fWhip may be at odds, but they find comfort in each other because there is no one else. Jimmy may have caused the apocalypse, but he’s also the only one who can lead.

Scott can even see why one might consider Lizzie’s decision to leave as weakness. She had allowed her emotions to blend with her logical thinking, instead of separating the two functions like everyone else has attempted.

Scott can’t blame Lizzie for her choices, of course, and he doesn’t think anyone can—if she truly felt like she couldn’t accept Jimmy as a leader, it may have been better for her to go out alone rather than push back against everyone else.

And this brand of compartmentalizing is messy. fWhip spends half his time looking so nervous Scott’s afraid he might bite through his lip, and Gem had stared blankly at a cut the day before for a good thirty seconds before Scott reminded her to get a bandage. Jimmy embarks on possible suicide missions to rescue every person possible with almost zero regards for his own safety.

While Jimmy’s choices in that regard may not be so sound, they do keep up morale. Scott can imagine that tomorrow, Jimmy will begin plans to look for Pix. Jimmy’s so determined to save everyone, even if they’re beyond help, and it’s reckless but it’s worth it to see the relief on everyone’s faces when yet another person is home safe.

And Jimmy knows that. He is a good leader, after all.

“So, Pix,” Scott says aloud. “Are we going for him next?”

fWhip bites his lip. “Well, we haven’t seen anything of that guy—but his catacombs are sealed. Gem has this theory that he shut himself in, and the crawlies can’t get in. The problem is us getting in. Jimmy didn’t like our chances.”

“I bet there’s coal,” Shelby says suddenly, straightening. “Pix has tons of stuff, right? And lots of supplies down in the catacombs.”

“False said she’s got enough fuel for maybe five more trips,” Scott recalls. “We definitely need more.”

And perhaps, most importantly, Scott doesn’t know what to do next.

Once everyone is rescued, what is there to do? What happens when there’s no one else to save?

Rescuing Pix gives them a purpose, a goal. Something to put off the questions of continuing a bit later.

Jimmy probably realizes that, as good a leader as he is. He’s probably already started formulating a plan.

“No,” Jimmy tells them the next morning, when they gather in the chapel as usual. Before anyone can protest, he continues.

“We haven’t seen anything of Pix since this all started. There’s been no signs of life in the observations and fly-overs we’ve done. Those catacombs are just too much of a risk.”

“That’s a stupid excuse,” Shelby says bluntly, and judging by the expressions of everyone around the table, Scott thinks that they all mostly agree with her.

Jimmy sighs, rubs his eyes. He looks exhausted—Scott had woken him for second watch the night before, and he’s not sure that Jimmy’s slept since.

“Look, I know it’s not ideal,” he says, and there’s something in Jimmy’s voice that’s almost begging for them to understand his reasoning. Which would serve to endear Scott to him, except his reasons suck. “We’ve barely got enough fuel for it as it is. Every day, there’s more of those varmints around—and I’m sure they multiplied like rabbits up in Stratos—and if we get stuck in those catacombs, there’s no getting out. We—we’d die in there, just like Pix probably has. I’m sorry, but we can’t.”

Silence. Scott glances around—fWhip and Gem are sharing a Look, False is brooding over a cup of coffee, Sausage isn’t here, Katherine’s glaring at the floor, and Shelby’s just leaning back in her chair, arms crossed. She huffs.

“First of all, Pix probably stockpiled a bunch of coal—” she starts, but Jimmy cuts her off with a raise of his hand.

“Shelby, no,” he says firmly. “I don’t do this often, but I’m in charge, and I’m making an executive decision right now. The Sheriff says no, all right?”

And with those words, Jimmy stands up, shoves his hat onto his head, and leaves.

The rest of them finish breakfast silently, avoiding eye contact with one another.

Scott doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. Well, other than he thinks that Jimmy’s wrong. That’s pretty much a given, but he just isn’t confrontational enough to know whether this is enough of an injustice to fight about it.

The others seem to think there’s a genuine chance that Pix might be all right, but if he’s locked himself in his catacombs, he probably doesn’t have much in the way of supplies. There’s no guarantee that he hasn’t already starved to death, and no guarantee that he’ll have coal.

If it’s just rescuing Pix and gaining no other benefits, is it worth the risk?

Yes, Scott decides immediately. It is worth the risk, because Pix is another human being stuck in this horrible ending, and they ought to be doing everything they can to rescue everyone possible.

Scott can’t stop thinking about that as he heads back to his room and tidies it up. He’d never been a hero—he can remember abandoning tour guides in ancient temples once or twice—but Pix is his friend. Pix is a person, out there, on his own. They have the ability to help, and are choosing not to.

So when he’s done making his bed, the first thing he does is track down fWhip.

“I mean . . . if Jimmy thinks it’s too much of a risk, I’m with him,” fWhip says awkwardly when Scott asks him what he thinks. “He’s not usually wrong about how to handle this kind of thing.”

“He was wrong about how to handle Joel,” Scott points out. fWhip grimaces.

“Well, yeah. But since then, he’s had a pretty good track record. Pix is a great guy, and we need all the help we can get . . . but if Jimmy says no, I say no.”

“Of course I think we should go for Pix,” says Shelby, as Scott trails along beside her on a perimeter sweep. He tugs her away by her sleeve when she almost passes through the border, then marks the new line (because of course it’s changed, by about five inches here) with a little stack of rocks. “I know what it’s like to be out there alone, sure that no one will ever find you. It’s—it’s scary, Scott. We should go for him.”

“You don’t think it’s too dangerous?”

“We all have to make sacrifices,” Shelby says gravely. “I don’t want to trade lives or anything, but we need Pix’s smarts. If anyone can figure out a way to get out of here, he can.”

“Who’s to say he hasn’t already made it out?” False inquires, kicking back in her chair. “If anyone could, it’d be me or Pix. Maybe he has some secret portal tucked away in there.”

“So . . . you think we shouldn’t look for him?”

False shrugs. “I don’t know, Scott. I mean, what’s one person at the end of the world?”

And that’s exactly the question, isn’t it?

“Scott, I’m kind of in the middle of something—”

“I just want to know what you think,” Scott says. Gem sighs, backing away from the beehive before removing her gloves.

“I think the Sheriff’s right,” she says simply. “I don’t like it, but I understand. I’ve thought about it for a while, and it’s the choice I would make. We don’t have the fuel to spare—what if we need to relocate before we can sail out to Joey? We have to conserve what we can.”

“I don’t know,” says Katherine. She runs her whetstone along the blade of her axe a couple more times before continuing. “There’s a lot of risk there for what could possibly be no reward.”

“If we knew for sure that Pix was alive, would that change your answer?”

“Honestly . . . if there’s any chance he’s alive, I’d say go for him, of course.” Katherine sets down the whetstone. “There’s a lot of unknowns, but even if it’s just—recovering his body, it’s worth it. If Jimmy changes his mind, I’m down to go. I hate just sitting around.”

“Why wouldn’t we go rescue Pix?” Sausage asks, eyes wide, and that’s all the answer Scott needs.

Most of them end up around the campfire that night, for some reason. Katherine’s out patrolling in the night—Scott can occasionally catch a glimpse of her lantern bobbing up and down far away—and the rest of them (bar Sausage, of course) are sitting out, deliberately not meeting each others’ eyes.

Maybe they’re all here because they know something’s got to give. The tension has been building all day, and someone must’ve let Jimmy know that Scott had been going around to everyone and asking their thoughts, because Jimmy hasn’t so much as looked at Scott in hours.

Was it wrong of Scott to go behind Jimmy’s back and gather support against him? It’s not mutiny, probably—he’s not trying to shake Jimmy from his position as leader, as ill-gotten as it may be. He’s just trying to change his mind, sway him into something more reasonable.

Maybe it is time for another leader, though. He still hasn’t had the time to confront Jimmy’s deeds, to process any of it. He may never have that time. But just because he’s good at it doesn’t necessarily mean he should lead.

Not that Scott wants the position. Not that he can think of anyone more suitable.

Right, as long as Jimmy makes reasonable decisions, he’s a fine leader. Everyone else is here to keep him accountable, not blindly obey. There doesn’t need to be any mutiny.

Jimmy sighs, breaking the silence and interrupting Scott’s rambling thoughts.

“Right. You’re all here about the whole Pix thing, aren’t you?”

Gem looks away. fWhip worries his lip between his sharp teeth. Shelby taps her fingers against her arm.

None of them are going to speak. Of course they aren’t. They’re not cowards, but Scott sort of started this, didn’t he? He’s the one who went around and asked everyone’s thoughts. It’s time to put his money where his mouth is.

“Some of us think we should . . . reopen the discussion,” Scott says carefully. Jimmy finally looks at him. He looks even more tired than he did this morning—the shadows under his eyes are clear even against the dark night, the firelight throwing the lines on his face into stark, haggard relief.

“I know,” Jimmy says. “I know. But I really don’t appreciate y’all talking about this behind my back. Scott, fWhip told me you’ve been going around to everyone all day, asking if they think I’m wrong.”

He shouldn’t have gone to fWhip. Not that—not that this is something that he meant to keep a secret, but Jimmy clearly isn’t happy about it. And fWhip is a snitch.

Scott holds strong. “Yeah, well, the majority of us think that it’s worth the risk. If Pix is alive, he deserves just as much of a chance at help as I did.”

“I know you think you’re being all noble,” Jimmy says acerbically, “but really, Scott. You’re smarter than this. Pix’s tombs have only got the one way in. If we go in, and there’s nothing and no one, those critters will close off our escape. You saw the way they swarmed up Stratos—it’ll be that but times ten. And Pix hasn’t even shown any sign of life!” Jimmy shakes his head doggedly. “No. I’ve tried explaining my decision to you. I wouldn’t choose wrong on something like this. Trust me.”

And really, Scott should’ve dropped it then. He should’ve walked away, understood that he was poking the bear here, that Jimmy was sleep-deprived and annoyed and fed-up with his authority being questioned.

But the absolute indignation he feels at Jimmy telling him he wouldn’t ‘choose wrong’ when it came to someone’s life cannot be ignored.

Scott laughs. “Trust you?” he says, incredulous. “I—Jimmy, excuse me for not trusting you, especially after you lied to me for days!”

“I—I didn’t lie!” Jimmy sputters. “I—I just didn’t tell the full truth, there’s a difference! And you never asked, so I figured—”

“I didn’t know there was anything to ask about! I didn’t find out until two days ago what those things even are, let alone why they’re here! You’d think that if you killed someone and it caused—”

Jimmy stands up, his holster belt sliding off his knee and onto the log he’d been sitting on. Gem gasps a little bit; fWhip buries his face in his hands, ears flapping down.

“Scott,” Jimmy says, his voice low and hands clenched into fists at his sides, “I need you to leave right now.”

Scott stands as well, tossing his coat to the side. “Right,” he laughs derisively. “As soon as you get a little criticism, you blow up over it.”

“How about we all just calm down, maybe go to bed,” fWhip suggests, dropping his hands.

“How am I supposed to sleep knowing that we’re being led by an idiot?” Scott says snidely.

“Guys—”

“I’m not the bad guy, Scott!” Jimmy says. “I’m trying to lead this group, I’m trying to keep us alive!”

“Keep us alive? Jimmy—”

“I’m in charge because I’m the only one willing to make these choices,” Jimmy says, words echoing angrily in the night. “You want to try it? You want everyone’s lives in your hands? I’m doing my best! I’m not the bad guy!”

Scott scoffs, flexing his fingers. He’s ready. Come at me. “You can’t say you’re not the bad guy when you’re the one who killed Joel, you started this—”

Jimmy tackles Scott, his hat flying off, sending them both to the ground with a thud. Scott gasps—all the air in his chest is just gone and Jimmy’s weight is crushing him—he shoves hard, rolls to be on top of Jimmy, hands scrabbling to pull and scratch at any part of him.

Jimmy rolls then as well, and Scott’s suddenly very aware of the burning heat beside him and shoves until they roll the other direction, away from the fire.

“Get him, Scott!” Shelby cheers, while fWhip wails and yells for them to stop, but all Scott can hear is the blood pounding in his ears and all he can feel is—Jimmy doesn’t have the right, he doesn’t have the right to declare who lives and who dies and Scott’s going to defend his friends even if that means hurting one of them—

Scott hits him hard in the mouth, anger boiling over, and Jimmy actually yells in frustration or pain (Scott can’t tell which one) before pounding the heels of his fists against Scott’s head, which throws him off-balance and hurts—

“Stop—I said, stop!”

Scott freezes at Sausage’s voice (as does Jimmy under him), scrambles up off of Jimmy and scoots back to look at him. Jimmy groans, pulls himself to his feet.

Sausage is there, illuminated by the fire, arms crossed as he looms over them. He isn’t wearing shoes, his hair is still sleep-mussed, and one of his sleeves is half-rolled up and fraying at the end.

He’s the most intimidating figure Scott’s ever seen, and he manages to feel a sudden burst of shame. What was he thinking, wrestling with Jimmy like that? They’re supposed to be adults.

“I can’t believe this!” Sausage declares, glaring at the both of them. “You guys are being too disruptive, I’m trying to pray!”

Jimmy spits angrily on the ground, and Scott’s shame fades for a moment of vicious pleasure as he sees that Jimmy’s lip is sluggishly bleeding.

“She’s dead, Sausage!” Jimmy snarls.

The air goes cold in the late summer night. Everything seems to freeze. Jimmy doesn’t stop.

“Your god is dead! They’re all dead—every single one of ‘em, dead as Pix is. We’re alone here in this damned world, and I know it for a fact—because when I killed the last god, I begged for forgiveness and there was no one to hear my prayers. They’re all dead! Your Pearl is dead, all right?”

Silence. Scott doesn’t move. Nobody moves.

Jimmy laughs bitterly, looking around at each of their shadowed faces.

“And you know what? If Pix were here, he’d agree with me. So you can go back to praying to your dead god, Sausage, in there day-in and day-out blabbering uselessly to thin air and dust. I’m gonna try and do something worthwhile! I’m gonna try and save us! Hate me all you want—you know I’m right.”

And with that, Jimmy swings his holster belt over his shoulder and storms off into the night, the fire flickering behind him.

The next day passes uneasily. Scott avoids Jimmy, embarrassed by his outburst last night (and maybe, just a little bit, still fiercely righteously angry). fWhip avoids Scott. And Jimmy avoids absolutely everybody.

That is, until midafternoon, when a scream comes from the border.

Scott hears it from his place in the inn kitchen, rummaging around looking for something to prepare for dinner. He drops the loaf of bread he’d pulled from the shelf and runs—it has to be an infection, there’s only been two since he got here but both times they’d been an emergency and traumatizing and that scream had sounded awfully like Shelby—

Sure enough, Shelby’s standing at the border, but the reason for her distress is made immediately clear.

Scott stops in his tracks, almost frozen in shock. Gem and fWhip, exiting the church not far away, halt before they get more than a step out the door, fWhip’s hands over his mouth. Katherine, running in, stops so suddenly she nearly falls over.

“Hi, guys!” Oli says brightly. His smile is a little bit too wide. A black, fuzzy thing crawls over his lips.

Scott swallows back the shriek that tries to issue from his own lips.

Oli is. . . .

He should definitely be dead.

Should being the keyword.

There’s—Scott can count at least six mites attached to him. There’s one on his shoulder—his shoulder is bare, his puffy shirt torn, and the skin is blackened and almost gooey where the mite is stuck like a leech. One or two circle his dirty stockings, there’s definitely one in his hair, and as Scott watches, unable to tear his eyes away, a particularly tiny one squeezes its way out of his nostril.

He’s going to be sick. Scott’s going to be sick. He’s going to throw up right here and right now, because Oli shouldn’t be here, skin oozing and covered in those things. He should be dead.

The not-dead (or, not-yet-dead) Oli, who is very much here when he oughtn’t be, sighs and sets his hands on his hips. “Well, isn’t anyone going to let a poor boy in? Where’s Sausage? Where’s my Sausage?”

“He’s not here,” Scott forces himself to say when nobody speaks. His voice cracks on the first word; no one calls him out on it. Shelby looks like she’s in shock, still barely a meter from Oli. Gem’s muttering something under her breath that Scott can’t quite hear but sounds like either a prayer or a curse. They’re quite similar, after all.

There’s a crowd gathering. Townsfolk coming to see what’s wrong, gasping and whispering and making horrified sounds.

“You need to go away,” fWhip finally says, bounding forward a couple of steps and making a shooing motion with his hands before bouncing back. “Get out.”

Oli sticks out his bottom lip. “Now is that any way to treat a guest? I’ll just—”

They all make movements forward as Oli sets a foot beyond the border. Scott can’t let him in, he can’t let him bring death here so soon—

Oli pauses, though, makes a face that seems to imply the air is a bit awkward for what he’s going to say. “Erm, can you take down this fancy forcefield . . . thing?” he asks. “My little friends can’t get through, see.”

Nobody says a word. Scott barely dares to breathe. They can’t just—can they just leave him here? They can’t, right?

But they can’t let him in.

And then, with the familiar sound of boots pounding into dirt, Jimmy appears.

To his credit, Jimmy takes in the scene with nothing more than mild horror, before his face softens into something kind and he slowly approaches the border, and by association Oli. Shelby takes a few shaky steps back, but Scott steps forward. Whatever Jimmy tells Oli, he wants to hear it. Even as . . . unpleasant as being up close is, Scott notes, eyes catching on the mite on Oli’s shoulder as it literally burrows further into his flesh.

“Jimmy! What’s going on here, king?”

“Nothing much,” Jimmy says easily, posture relaxed and a bit of a smile on his face. Scott can’t help it, he’s impressed. For all he’s said and done, Jimmy is very good at being a leader—and by extent, keeping the peace.

“Well, why—why—why won’t you all let me in, huh?”

“Oli, we can’t let you in.”

Oli’s face falls. “Why not?”

Up close, Scott can see moist blackness under Oli’s chin, the frame of his jaw appearing to have a spongy texture. He wonders, morbidly, if he pressed it would it sink in?

“Oli, there’s a bit of a bad thing going on right now,” Jimmy says, his voice still soothing and calm. “There’s an evil in this world.”

“Well, well, that’s not good!” Oli says. “Have you seen this evil?”

Jimmy’s eyes linger on the mite burrowed in Oli’s hair. “Yes,” he says. “But—we need eyes on the ground, yeah?”

Oli’s mouth goes wide like an ‘O’, and Scott actually has to press his hand to his mouth to hold back the bile that rises. His tongue is black and slimy and decaying, and he thinks there might be a mite in his mouth—which would explain the swollen cheek.

“You want me to be like a spy!” Oli says excitedly. “Why of course, king! I’ll report back next week, yeah?”

“Yeah,” says Jimmy. “Next week. See you then.”

Somehow, it works. Oli waves cheerily at them all (nobody so much as moves), then hops off in the opposite direction, singing something loudly as he leaves.

Jimmy turns back to the crowd, face ashen. His voice trembles just slightly when he speaks. “Do you still want to go after Pix?”

A moment’s hesitation. fWhip’s actually crying, Scott realizes, a couple of fat tears rolling down his green cheeks. Gem looks like she’ll never forget the image of Oli as long as she lives.

Scott won’t, either. He still feels like he’s one wrong move from vomiting. And now, after seeing exactly what the mites do to someone, he doesn’t know how he can even justify looking for Pix. If Pix is like that, he’s not sure he’d be able to bear it.

His llamas had been ill, and in so much pain when the darkness took them. He doesn’t want to see any more of his friends like that.

But can he really leave Pix to that fate?

“Yes. We want to go for him,” Katherine says firmly, as even Shelby looks doubtful. She meets Jimmy’s gaze with hard determination in her eyes. “Everyone deserves help. Everyone deserves a chance. We can’t just choose to sacrifice someone else to keep ourselves safe.”

Shelby looks away.

“What about Oli?” asks Jimmy, gesturing behind him.

“Oli’s already gone,” Katherine says. She shakes her head. “That wasn’t Oli. That was . . . whatever shadow is left of him. We don’t know if Pix is gone yet.” Then, something almost pleading in her voice, she says, “We can’t let that happen to him.”

Scott sees the precise moment Jimmy relents. He holds her gaze for a moment, heavy and determined and still a little angry, before his shoulders slump.

“Fine,” says Jimmy. He waves a hand wearily. “We set out for Pix in two days. Start preparing.”