Semi-Daily Scribbles

Zoë, with Ben tangled in her limbs, landed hard on the inviting lupine that marked the way to the clearing. The field before them was dotted in purple and white. Indian paintbrush swayed gently in the breeze on the ridge above. Zoë had no recollection of this place. Ben must have envisioned the spot while they were wrestling for control of the Tube and changed their course for this mountaintop. She’d have about five minutes before Ben's soul slunk back into its dry husk. It was going to take a bit of improvising and a whole lot of luck to get out of this predicament. Zoë heaved the regenerating corpse off of her and slowly got to her feet. She was still dizzy from the Tube collapse and ejection. As she surveyed the surrounding mountainside, a sickening thought hit her hard.

No. It can't be. It's so beautiful here.

Zoë realized, standing amongst the snow-capped peaks and vibrant wildflowers, that this was exactly how Ben would do it. Before he'd extinguish the life of one of his victims, he'd want the poor wretch to get her fill of beauty, especially if this was the first and last chance of seeing something other than despair and suffering. It was his calculated way of driving home the point that bad things happen to good people, and that life is meaningless in the end.

"Welcome to Camp Desolation, Zoë. Activities will get underway shortly." The voice, though faint and rasping, was unmistakable. Zoë's time to formulate a plan was over.