She heard the blonde behind her say something, even thought she could make out a name, and the black woman said something as well, something a voice inside her agreed with, but she was distracted, more so than at any other time on this particular day: A hulk of a man stepped into their little neck of the woods and, as if all the blood he was covered with and the pipe in his hand weren't threatening and, however much she hated to admit it, frightening enough, she recognized him. Stories like his weren't your run-of-the-mill serial killer reports. The Beast.
When she had finished high school, her plan had been to go on a hiking trip through Europe with a couple of friends; her parents had been hiking with her and her sister basically since birth, so she knew what she was getting into. Except reports of disappearances scared her parents so much they didn't let up until she instead walked the Appalachian trail, or what was left of it after funding for it was cut to oblivion a few decades earlier. When she came back from the wilderness, The Beast was all over the news and, to her knowledge, her parents and sister never went hiking again.
And now, here she was, within spitting distance of perhaps the most dangerous creature in this forest. With people like the man the doctor was treating, odds were that a few of them were psychopaths, highly intelligent individuals that seemed harmless on the surface. With the Beast, she was certain he would attack sooner or later; what scared her was the thought of running out of bullets before bringing him down. He looked like the love child of an angry bull and an even angrier grizzly bear. How did you interact with something like that? How could you possibly tame it, or at least direct its anger away from you?
Christine didn't know the answer and everything in her urged her to do what she had done before: Aim for the head and take the shot. Yet she couldn't do it. There were no moral qualms holding her back and she was sure she could take quick aim and shoot; no, those weren't the problem. But she was trying to earn some trust here, trying to appear as civil as she could to the few individuals on this station that seemed to be reasonable and perhaps trustworthy themselves. Maybe she could shoot him and explain afterwards, maybe she couldn't - it wasn't a risk she was willing to take.
Perhaps it was for the best she didn't react to him; anything she said could have angered this brute enough to set him off and, as with all wild animals, showing fear and inferiority were sure-fire ways of getting yourself killed... except with the ones where running away or climbing on trees was the only way to survive. Either way, another pair joined them. And, again, she knew one of those faces, knew the name by heart, overshadowing the presence of the elderly man who supported him, and couldn't keep herself from whispering it in surprise:
"Makarid Ristachev."
When she had started to see the cracks in the UN facade, heard of their methods, learned about the corruption and how they stayed the course that had led the world into the chaos that almost destroyed human civilization, this man who opposed them and tried something different, tried to build a communist society supported by modern technology and succeeded, became her hero. War crimes, disappearances, rumors of torture... it was a blemish, no doubt, but it didn't phase her. He was removed from office, hanged by an angry mob and reappeared years later, charged with numerous counts of murder and other crimes. Christine never knew what to make of that last part of his biography. Did he come back from the dead? Did he commit these crimes or was he being framed? All she knew was that he had, through his success, inspired rebels and politicians alike. I wonder how things turned out after I was put in stasis.
He was wounded and, as if on cue, the doctor, Elmina, finished fixing up the Joe and directed her attention at the former president of the Russian Federation. Not only that, she spoke of going back inside, of food and water and information. The black girl said she wanted to help carry things and another man stepped on the clearing, appearing about as threatening, or non-threatening, as the one who had just been treated. Whether he was dangerous - We all are - didn't even really matter right now. The main issues were that this group was getting bigger and bigger and the one person who seemed both willing and capable of leading them was being a little too liberal with her compassion. If that was how she was going to act, she would need help and protection.
Christine stepped closer to Elmina and Ristachev, giving the politician a slight nod to show her respect, then knealed down next to the blonde and whispered to her:
"I don't know what your plan is but if you intend to go back in there and bring enough food and water for everybody here, you're gonna need more hands. And you need somebody to watch your back." She let her gaze wander all around, making sure that nobody was sneaking up on them and that none of the members of this ragtag crime family were bashing each other's skulls in.
"There's at least one Beast here neither of us want to turn their back on and a lot more degenerates inside and, if nothing else, I think you've seen that I'm willing to shoot a guy if they try to break your bones. I'm not saying you have to trust me - and you're gonna have to buy me dinner first before you get a kiss - but I am one the safer gambles you can choose from right now."
