It wasn’t a nice name but it beat Dopey which was what they had formerly called him at school. And it was an apt name for the simple fact that he just wasn’t that bright. Sure he was a nice guy, he followed the rules and did what he was told - he just happened to be dumb. Show him how to do a task and he’ll follow it, ask him to reason out why, or to come up with a better way, and you’d get the same response from a lump of cheese. The Dunce just did what he was told, he didn’t care about the how or the why. As far as he was concerned that was unnecessary information.
When they told him to jump off the ship and swim, that’s just what he did. He didn’t ask why, he didn’t ask where to – he just swam until he hit the beach. And now he just sat here waiting for someone else to come along and tell him what to do next.
He didn’t even grab one of the patrol packs before jumping into the water, so he didn't have a torch to see anything around him. He wasn’t afraid though – many of the crew assumed he was like a child because he was naive and slow. But he was no child - he was just dumb.
It was cold on the beach and dark, so dark. The dark bothered him so he sat on the sand tracing patterns with his fingers. Some of them were letters, which together made words and some of those words he knew. Like his name. Rory. His parents had helped him in that regard, nice and short, two of the letters the same. For The Dunce, it was easy to remember. His last name was long, it had too many letters and was long forgotten. Since everyone on the boat called him The Dunce, it didn’t matter anyway.
His reverie was broken by the sound of someone coming along the beach. It sounded like a person hopping along, slow but methodical, and definitely coming towards him. He stood up, uselessly waved his hands, too stupid to realize that no one could see that far away.
“Over here,” he called out. Now that got a response, a low moan echoed back and he called out again. “I’m over here,” this time the returned moan was louder and definitely coming towards him. Its pitch and tone increased, like it was becoming more aggressive.
And then the smell hit him, like old meat that his mother always said you shouldn’t eat. This person really needed a bath and in that slow brain of his a warning light began to flash.
“Who is that? You smell,” The Dunce asked, but the hopper just groaned in response. And then it ran, straight to him. He’d encountered enough bullies to know if someone ran towards you and you didn’t know why, it was best to run away - fast. So that’s what he did.
Away from the groaner and along the beach he ran. But the groaner followed him and he could hear others joining him. The joiners all groaned as they chased after him. Now he was back at school with a gang of children chasing him, pens in hand ready to write bad words on his forehead.
He knew he could run fast but this gang, these naughty boys who wanted to hurt him, were keeping up with him. And now it sounded like there were at least four of them back there. It was too dark to see but he could differentiate the groans behind him. In school his saving grace was always his stamina. Most bullies just got bored and gave up after a while. But these bullies just kept chasing, matching him step for step.
Ahead he saw a small building. Since he couldn’t outrun them maybe he could hide in there. He ran to the building, through the open door and slammed hard against the wall opposite. Pushing back off the wall he spun around and shoved the door shut. It was flimsy and there was no lock. Seconds later the things were outside, thumping against it. He didn’t have long before they were inside.
He looked around the ground for something to brace against the door but all he saw were old tin cans and used soda cans. Someone had holed up here for a while and there was blood on the floor, but no body. And then he saw it, lying on the floor near the dried up dark brown blood stain.
An axe. It must have belonged to whoever had previously hidden in here, but now it was his. He picked it up feeling the weight and heft – it was strong. Not strong enough to brace the now splintering door, but maybe strong enough to scare them away. He swung it a couple of times, getting used to it as a baseball player might get used to a bat before stepping out to the plate. Then the door broke and four of them stood there at the only entrance/exit looking at him. They were long dead, one so injured that he was unable to stand and instead crawled inside.
It was too dark to see the detail on their faces but as they shambled into the confined room the smell overpowered him. Now he could place it - it was the smell of death. These weren't people, these were monsters, the bringers of death. He swung the axe one more time as they moved towards him – batter up.