5

It had seemed to escape me while I slept exactly how busy the camp is. Watching people move around you, carrying supplies and weapons in their hands, while you sit along a bench and do nothing is a very awful feeling.

I pride myself on having impact, on having purpose. Another clog in the machine, doing its part to make everything function smoothly. Now, I'm not saying I enjoy blending in, and having a position that is replaceable, but sitting here doing nothing feels much worse than I thought it would.

Especially when there isn't room anywhere in the machine to squeeze you in.

Which is why I'm so very happy when Pan comes up and sits across from me on the bench.

"What do you need me for?" I ask.

He grins. "Is that anyway to start a conversation?"

"You don't talk to me unless you are bored out of your mind or you want something from me," I say. "Correct me if I'm wrong."

"Aren't you supposed to be in the med tent?" He questions.

That's what he wants from me. To get back to the med tent.

"I'll be contributing as much out here as I am in there." I tell him.

He cocks an eyebrow. I roll my eyes, getting up and turning to walk to the tent.

"You know, if you're so keen on bossing me around-" I begin, turning back to face him.

He's gone.

I get up from the table, stretching my back before heading into the med tent. Opening the flaps, I enter inside, peering around.

"Any seizures yet?" I ask James.

"Good morning to you too." James chuckles. "And no, we got lucky. I don't think the symptoms are ordered."

"I thought it was following a pattern." I begin. "First the vomiting, then the sleeping, then the breathlessness-"

Robert sits up, holding his head in his hands. "Not really. It's based on how our bodies fight off diseases, and the shots we've had. We are from different decades, right?"

"You've been here what, ten years?" I ask.

"Something like that." He explains. "Max probably has some sort of predisposing to seizures. James and I didn't sleep for a whole day as our bodies tried to fight it off. I've mainly been getting headaches and heat flashes. Thomas has been sweating and sleeping it off. Max's body is doing God knows everything to keep it out-"

"And my body has been just trying to empty itself." James says. He still has the bucket in his lap, and inside is a sickly green liquid.

"So, what exactly does the illness do, if all its symptoms are ridiculously different?" I ask. "Are we sure it's one sickness?"

James vomits at this.

"Absolutely sure." Harry says. "That doesn't mean it has to make sense scientifically. It could simply be magic."

I guess that's a fair enough answer.

Funny, a month ago I never would've take magic as a logical explanation.

I look over, past James. Thomas is still sleeping, sweat essentially dripping off his body. Max sounds as if he's breathing for through a straw.

"No more seizures?" I ask.

James vomits again.

"No," Robert says. "I'm basically holding the fort down. No use in you being here."

I nod. "I'll be off then. Feel better."

I leave the tent, almost frustrated that they don't need my help. As boring as that tent is, I'd rather be in there.

It's then that I decide to pay Harry a visit. He's mostly been training other boys, and since Alex is so busy nothing's to stop me from training with them.

It's a shorter walk then I thought it would be through the forest, but I arrive to see Harry standing in front of a group of less than ten boys, most of whom I don't recognise.

Harry comes up to me, patting me on the back, hooking his arm around my shoulders. He pulls me forward to the group. Thankfully he's relieved to see me, muttering a brief hello.

"Alright, so everybody all knows Charlie?"

I look out across the faces, only recognizing Marcus and another boy, who I only met in passing. No one nods their head, not even Marcus.

"Right, so this is Charlie." He continues. "And it's absolutely perfect that he's come."

"Why?" I ask.

"I'm trying to get them to learn how to knife fight, but they are only interested in swords and arrows." He explains. "Don't even get me started on spears and clubs."

Gregory used a club to smash Lyle's face in.

I shiver at the memory.

He tosses me one of his knives. Judy.

I catch it, barely nicking my own hand. "So what, you want to fight me?" I ask. "I've got no clue how to knife fight."

"Charlie specializes in the dagger." Harry explains to the crowd. "But, he'll definitely be able to hold his own against me. They may not be the same, but if you get use to the weighting there isn't much else that's different."

He spins his knife in his hand, as I move my arm about. I'm not about to throw it, since I'm not used to the weighting of the blade essentially being no existent.

Harry is the first to move, spinning as he slashes at me. He has his knife curled back in his fist, and he extends his hand just as he spins close to me.

I leap back to avoid having a slash across my face, flipping on to my back. As I fall, I kick my leg out, but he nimbly jumps over it.

Nimble, flighty, and precise. To use a knife you must act like a knife; light on your feet, quick to move, and accurate. Dagger fighting is about tricking your opponent into opening up a weak spot. Sword fighting is about brutally making your way to weak spots.

Knife fighting is about knowing everything is a weak spot.

I roll my feet underneath me, getting up. I wouldn't describe myself as physically rigid, or strong, but that doesn't mean I'd say I'm in anyway able to move as swiftly and surely as a knife fighter. I find myself somewhere in between.

He backs up, before cracking his arm out like a whip, straight towards my throat. I swipe my knife forward, attempting to block the hit. Our blades collide with each other's hands, slicing them up. The metal isn't long enough to safely block a hit.

I've got to dodge.

He swipes at me, and I leap backwards, this time landing on my feet.

I move for him, and he leaps back. I continue to slice the air, continually making him move farther back, until his back is against a tree.

He pulls me in towards him, and pulls me tightly against him, before wrapping his arm around me. Holding the knife to the back of my head, he keeps me in place.

"This may not be as effective as the front of the neck," he explains to his students. "But, with one slice, you could paralyse your opponent."

"That is, if your opponent didn't have their knife at you side." I chuckle.

He looks down, as I press the cool blade against his side.

He let's go, shoving me backwards. "Well played."

His grin is wide.

I'm not good at throwing knives, that's Harry's thing as well.

I chuck my knife forward, and it pins his cloak to the tree, piercing straight through.

"I learned from the best." I crack a grin.

"So, knife fighting is valuable." Harry rips the knife out from his cloak, addressing the boys. "Especially throwing knives. As well as you can fight with a sword, getting the jump on somebody is much easier with a knife. And I mean, much easier."

He waits for anyone to argue, but nobody does. "Alright then. Pair up with each other and show me what you got."

The boys move towards a bin, grabbing knives out of it.

"That was fun." I admit to Harry.

We stand on the edge of the clearing, watching the boys have at each other. They are decent at best.

"Most action you've got the last few days, right?" He chuckles.

I nod. "They don't even need me in the med tent. Robert's got everything handled."

"Yeah, I figured as much." He says. "The little elephant's doing okay?"

I have no idea what he's talking about. "Sorry?"

"Thomas," he explains. "Remember, the big ears?"

I think back on the conversation we had, maybe a month ago. That's what made me realise they were brothers. The same deep skin, the same curly hair, and the same big ears.

"Right," I say. "He's doing well. Sleeping and sweating it off, so I hear anyway. It's Max that I'm worried about. The kid had seizures yesterday."

"Seizures?" Harry asks. "He's epileptic?"

"I don't think so," I say. "As far as I know he's only allergic to bees."

He nods, peering back out at the boys. "Marcus get that damn blade out from between your teeth. You aren't a musketeer. In a fight, someone hits that blade and you lose your tongue."

I chuckle. "I take it training is not going well?"

"These are all the pansy kids." He explains. "Refuse to fight, new, or are really crap at fighting."

"Yeah I bet." I say, watching as a kid opts to punch another kid when he gets nicked by the blade.

"You're lucky you aren't stuck in this nightmare." He says. "We'll be like this for weeks. Maybe months even."

"When do you think that we are going to get Felix back?" I ask.

He shrugs. "I've got no clue. We're in no shape to go out searching for him. All our people are sick."

"We should do it tomorrow," I say. "Tell the boys they get a day off."

"Get it approved by Pan first." He tells me. "Hey, John, no cheap shots."

The boy, John, glares over at Harry, before turning back to his opponent, who is ever so carefully holding himself as he rolls around on the ground.

I'm so happy I'm a girl. So very happy.

"Should I look for him now?" I ask.

Harry nods. "That way you'll have time to find Alex, Gregory, Johnny and Keaton."

"We have to work with them?" I ask.

That seems awful.

Harry laughs. "Unless you are literally begging for your ass to get beat, then kidnapped, I suggest you learn to live with them fighting."

"Yeah, alright." I scoff.

"Don't hate the player, hate the game." Harry tells me.

I used to hate Pan, simply because he made the game, but time has taught me better. Not everything in the world that goes south can be blamed on Peter Pan. Especially not when other people take the game and break the rules.

It's not fair to blame Pan for the actions of others.

Don't hate the game, hate the player.

"Yeah whatever." I sigh. "I'll see you later Harry."

"Good luck finding Pan," Harry tells me. "He could be anywhere."

Is this a fetch quest? I hate fetch quests. Screw this whole situation.

I give one last look at the boys, watching as they fight it out amongst each other. I spot two boys are the far end of the clearing, one taking his fists and smashing another boy in the head.

A little Gregory in the making, how cute.

To be fair, the boy looks to be about the same age I am, whereas the boy on the ground looks to be about 11.

Maybe not so much as a little Gregory in the making, but Gregory in the making.

I move to them, quickly grabbing the boy using his fists, punching him straight across the face. He lands on the ground below me, turning to face me.

"First of all, pick on someone your own size." I tell him. "Second of all, it's not training to beat someone else's face in."

I turn on my heels, before I hear called out behind me.

"Look at that, taken down in one punch." I turn around to see the little boy mocking him.

The little boy spits on the older boy. "You're weak and you're coward. Evan probably killed himself just so he wouldn't have to talk to you anymore. Would rather be in a tiger's mouth than with you."

"He was my friend." The other boy shouts.

The younger boy laughs, before slugging the older one in the face.

I flinch.

"As if anyone would be your friend."

I'm not sure what to do, but I know the answer isn't to turn around and head back to camp. I hit a boy, when I shouldn't have. I forget that though the one boy may look 11, he's probably much older than the other boy.

The answer isn't to walk away. Not when I did something wrong. Not when some else needs my help.

But I do it anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I really like this ending. I really do. Things are not always as they seem, and Charlie often starts fights before knowing all the information. I'm satisfied.

Are you? Let me know in the comments.

As always, stay entertained and I'll see you Saturday.