Five Survive

by Holly Jackson

“Yeah, that sniper won’t know what’s hit him when I slowly charge at him with my Gillette razor.”

“If we’re going to die here, fuck it, I’m having more tequila.”

Oliver’s face rearranged, softening between the eyebrows, a twitch in his lower lip, pulling at his chin. His eyes glazed, almost with the threat of tears, and he looked down before anyone could see. But Red saw, she was watching. And she knew that feeling better than anyone. The guilt a physical pain in your gut, twisting and twisting, like a hunger that never ended. The hot-faced feel of shame. And, despite everything, Red didn’t want Oliver to feel that way, to feel like she did. She wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

“He wasn’t a random guy. I knew him.”

CALLED IT

“I’m sorry, Red,” Oliver said, voice too flat, too normal in this most un-normal time and place. It happened so fast. Oliver lunged at her, arms coiling around her waist, iron-tight, pinning down her arms.

This guy is actually a psycho

“I’ve got you, Red,” Arthur said in her ear, hoisting her to her feet, dragging her back up the steps, her body pressed against his.

Yay Arthur to the rescue!!

She didn’t move, hands still raised. Red had known Oliver all her life, but she didn’t know this version of him, the person the red dot had turned him into, pushing him to the farthest point. But it must have always been there, somewhere inside, this Oliver. Dormant, waiting until he was needed.

What a ridiculous word that was. Fine. She was undressing at knifepoint and there was a sniper outside and she was supposed to be dead. But she was fine, you know?

“It’s okay, Red,” Maddy said, staring right at her, eyes locking on. “I can do it. I want to do it. I trust Oliver. I’ll save us all. I can. I’m not scared.” But she was. She was so scared. Red had never wanted to see that look on her best friend’s face and now she’d probably never forget it.

“Don’t leave me, Red,” Maddy cried, staring up at her. “I’m not leaving you.” Red lowered her face so they were eye to eye. “I’m not leaving you, okay, Maddy? I promise. Never.”

“You’re okay,” Red told her, because Maddy had said it to her before, and maybe it was just the thing you said to people who weren’t okay.

Oliver shook his head, and for once, he must be out of plans. His sister was dying and he was the one who sent her out there. Did he feel that guilt, or was he leaving it all to Red?

A hand came out of nowhere, colliding with the walkie-talkie, smacking it out of Red’s hands. It fell to the ground, shattering into pieces. The static died with it. Red’s eyes stayed down there with the broken walkie-talkie, not looking up. Because she knew that hand, the one that came out of nowhere. Knew the black scribbled check mark and boxes by his knuckles, matching the ones on hers. It was Arthur.

WTF

One sniper. One gun. One red dot. And one liar. This whole time. Red stared at him but he looked like a different person now.

Red blinked, pressed her eyes closed for a moment. No, she wasn’t there. She hadn’t seen Frank Gotti, hadn’t heard a gun. She’d never even been in that park, but she’d walked it so many times since, memorizing every detail, in case it was needed in her testimony.

What in the fresh HELL is going on

Or Arthur, who had been lying to her from the moment they met last September?

Unknowingly befriending the son of a mafia boss is actually insane

It was never a plan that belonged to Red, they weren’t in it together, the two of them; it was one of Catherine’s win-win plans, and Red had just been a pawn, thrown away like she was expendable, disposable. Why? Why her? Did Catherine really not care about her at all? Didn’t she see her best friend when she looked at Red; didn’t she see the ghost of Grace Kenny there too? How could she do this?

Six of them in this RV, and at least five of them were liars, including Red. But she wasn’t lying anymore, everything was out, everything was gone.

But we were in a fight, I was mad at her, I was so mad at her, and I can’t even really remember why now. But I hung up on her. I told her I hated her and I hung up on her. That’s the last thing I ever said to her, to Mom, and then she died. It was my fault, because maybe the thing she needed to tell me, maybe that would have been the thing that saved her.

Time must move backward here in this in-between place, reversing, because the night was coming back, darkness reclaiming the sky, taking Red with it. But Mom stayed with her, right here in her hand, at the end of all things. Mom stayed, and so did the stars.

I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to protect you. I’m sorry I never got to tell you. I’m sorry I never kissed you. I’m sorry that I’m writing this letter and it’s all too late. I’m sorry I left you there, bleeding on the road. I’m sorry.

I thought you were dead. She shot you twice and I thought you were dead. I’m sorry I ran, I should have stayed and held your hand. It should have ended with you and me.

And you’re alive, that’s the biggest one of all. That’s all I ever wanted, for you to live through this. But I’m sorry, I hope you know that. I guess none of us—the five that survived—will ever be the same after that long night. I mean, you slept for two weeks after. That wasn’t a funny joke, I’m sorry for that too.

I don’t know where I’ll go next, what I’ll do. That feels strange, when there’s a whole life ahead of me, and now I have no idea what it looks like.