Enamored with Kelvin

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Daphne

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A mouse

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I wear it every day.

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As blue as your eyes

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Alexandrite Ring

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Angelite pendant

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Greg…

The blinking dot on the LED screen he was staring at updated every few seconds, his brother’s indicator getting steadily closer. He felt on edge waiting. He didn’t want to leave him behind like that, it so felt wrong, but that was what Alex had planned on. He said it was easier without the two of them making more confusion out there fighting and running.

He held Kelvin both to comfort the man as well as himself. That was fucked up back there. Just how many locals lived on this island? Were the Puffton’s fertilizer for the daisies over in cannibal country? This whole operation was a wash.

Worry gnawed at his gut and he looked anxiously again. Minutes crawled by and still the little dot looked close but not close enough.

‘Is it stalling?’ he wondered, looking at the time and watching for a few moments as it turned over another minute.

‘Has he stopped moving?’ He would go and find him if he didn’t move soon. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself to think positive. Kelvin stirred momentarily, eyes flickering behind closed eyelids and Greg rubbed his arm some more until he felt the man settle back. He noticed Kelvin wasn’t sleeping well, waking up every half hour. Greg could get why. He focused his ears on approaching steps, eager to see his brother again and more than half scared of meeting more cannibals.

Cracking twigs and shivering ferns to the right of them gave up Alex, looking sweaty. He plops onto the ground, catching his breath wheezing and coughing it out. Relief washes over Greg and he cheers his brother on quietly with one fist in the air.

“Hey” is all he says in greeting, mouth open and nostrils flared as he pants.

Greg’s enthusiasm quiets as he takes in Alex’s haggard appearance. His brow has a smear of blood on it, Greg looks as closely as he could without leaving Kelvin’s side. It didn’t look like it was coming from a cut, just gore from the fight.

“Are you hurt? Do you need looking over?” He inquires in a hushed voice.

Alex laughs at him, shaking his head. He makes a show of looking over Greg, and the sleeping form of Kelvin nestled into him. He leans in, lifting one hand and cupping his fingers to one side of his mouth as though to whisper to him. Greg leans in, meeting him halfway and wondering what Alex is about to divulge.

“I’M FINE!” He shouts in Greg’s ear, fresh peels of laughter following. A lifetime with Alex had deadened his knee jerk reactions to antics like this, so he manages not to jump at the scare. Still, his heart did jump and his irritation flares up quick.

“You dick.” He grumbles, sticking the end of his pinky in his right ear and twisting it around. It didn’t really help the sharp stinging he felt, but that was abating slowly.

“Your boyfriend’s deaf dummy.” Alex berates him “He won’t wake up even if I do this.”

Raising his hands, Alex claps them together loudly. The three successive claps rang out in the darkness, hushing the crickets and frogs chirping momentarily, a tense breath of agitation, and then the chorus pipes up again. Alex’s dumb face hovers over the flames, and he snigger's at him for too long to be funny.

Having nothing to say to defend himself, Greg just shrugs and watches the firelight. Ignoring Alex was his only true defense really. He’d tried everything and all retaliation only brought was more havoc. Alex thrived on conflict. Greg was bushed, too tired to argue and just wanted to rest. Trembles wrack through Kelvin’s sleeping form at his side, an arm thrown out in defense falls to his lap. He grunts in sleep, face scrunching up in a pained expression.

Greg frowns down at him. Kelvin was in pretty bad shape. Even in sleep his body trembled head to toe every now and then. He was still in shock. His skin was cold and clammy to the touch, when Greg took his pulse it was very rapid. Kelvin would start trembling uncontrollably at times and then relax again.

Prolonged shock could be dangerous, Greg had to do something to stabilize the dropping blood pressure. He had shoved a log under their feet like a foot rest to start, feet above heart level would stop the stress on internal organs. Holding him and getting him to calm down was really all the tools he had left, but it seemed to be helping.

An odd, muffled shout escapes his lips and Kelvin wakes up. Kicking out and bolting upright to glance around, Kelvin breathes quick and shallow. Greg leans up and pats his back, gently pulling on one shoulder to lay back down. Kelvin resists, staring off into the endless trunks of trees half lit in the campfire. With another searching look around, eyes still wide with fear, Kelvin settles in against him. He doesn’t sleep, only clings to Greg with an iron grip.

“You sure are handsy. Are you two gay?” Greg’s spine stiffens and he glares at Alex. The question had been posed with some malice laden in the word ‘gay’ and Greg’s stomach clenched at it. His hand stopped at the top of Kelvin’s shoulder, the calming strokes halted. Clenching his teeth a few times, he struggles not to internally question himself.

“He was almost eaten, lay off man. You’d be scared too.” As he spoke he felt Kelvin shiver again, a small feeling of validation swelling up in his chest. It wasn’t gay to comfort someone in shock. “When it happens to you, you just calm yourself right down and let me know how that goes.”

Alex scoffs at that and raises his hands up in a churlish deflection.

“I’m just sayin’ bro! The two of you are looking mighty cozy and it just makes me wonder.” Greg resumed rubbing up and down Kelvin’s left arm as he’d been doing. He wouldn’t let Alex get in the way of doing his damn job.

“Shut up dude!” Greg kicked a log onto the fire, sending a whirl of orange sparks into the air. The fragrant campfire smoke thickened momentarily, burning his eyes and he blinked rapidly. He took a few deep breaths and cleared his eyes.

“It’s five hours ‘till sunrise, I’m spent. You get the watch tonight.” Alex tossed something from his left hand onto the ground at Greg. A pair of shoes tied at the laces topples and skitters to rest a little too close to the fire. Greg swipes them up, Kelvin smiling as he watches.

“I found his boots.” Was all Alex said before crawling into the tarp behind Greg and Kelvin, laying down to sleep. Kelvin reached over with his left hand and took the boots from Greg, smiling to himself. Greg took his arm away from his shoulders, giving him the freedom to sit up and untie the laces.

Greg watched from the corner of his eye. Kelvin was having some trouble with the knot, Alex had made a mess of one, his fingers didn’t seem to want to work together on pulling the little laces apart. Greg watched him for a few minutes, both giving him a chance as well as observing how much he could do. When the third minute passed, Kelvin dropped his hands in a look of frustration, his shoulders slumping in defeat. His frown made Greg feel uncomfortable inside, so he did something to change that.

Taking a turn at it, Greg gently pulls them out of Kelvin’s hands and turns the knot over to see where he could assist. Finding a tightly cinched loop, his works a fingernail into it and teases out the fabric little by little. The the first knuckle of his finger starts to feel sore from the pressure placed in it, but he’s almost got a good grip.

Working it over, his hand slips and his nail drags over his left thumb, leaving a sensitive red streak in the skin. Biting his lower lip, he concentrates and keeps at it. Once he’s fought the little loop long enough it gives, and when it is large enough to slip a finger underneath it, he hands the boots back to Kelvin.

His extended hand hangs there, boots waiting to be claimed, and he turns to see why Kelvin hesitates. He finds a look that he can’t place on the man’s face. Giving a short laugh, Greg nudges shoulders with him and wiggles his pro-offered hand to encourage him to take it.

Swallowing hard, Kelvin reaches for the boots. His frown morphs from one of despondence to determination as he tries again. His fingers are still lacking in fine tune control, but he’s getting it free now. The laces come apart, an audible breath of relief heard from Kelvin, and Greg watches the satisfied smile spread over the man’s face. Kelvin pulls his knees up and wipes his feet on each pant leg before pulling the boots on barefoot.

Kelvin manages to tie the laces without struggling too long, and looks tiredly at Greg once he’s fully dressed. Greg points into the tent and nods at Kelvin to lay down inside. Kelvin does as asked, though he does lay down closer to Greg than to Alex. As Greg kept watch, it was really difficult to resist his own weariness.

He stood up for a while as he guarded, then sat on his haunches after that. Hours slowly went by, the rain coming and going intermittently as Spring willed it. Drowsiness pawed at him, making him doze off as he crouched and then took up a militant pacing to keep awake.

Kelvin woke up every two hours or so. He couldn’t seem to fall fully under and fitfully tossed and turned until getting up to walk around and stretch. He would watch Greg for a little while, lingering near him and keeping silent company, until Greg saw his eyes droop and he would retreat to the tent and nod off again.

By the time sunrise is lighting tops of trees, Greg is bushed and wants to sleep. He crawls into the tent and crashes with a huff face first into his folded arms. He can feel himself drifting, but like Kelvin last night he can’t seem to go under. Alex wakes up and stretches out in a yawn that evolves into a yelp. He cradles his right arm close to his chest, cussing under his breath.

Greg gets up, forcing his eyes to focus as he stood to stagger toward his brother. Taking Alex by the wrist, he carefully guides him to extend the arm out, which Alex stops pretty quickly. Greg moves the wrist away from Alex and watches his face, noting there was no problem with moving his elbow around.

Expecting a reaction, Greg tentatively lifts the elbow up a fraction to test the rotator in the shoulder. As he anticipated, Alex hisses in pain and yelps again. Holding the shoulder still, Greg took hold of Alex’s chin and moved his head left and right. There he felt resistance in the right shoulder transferring into the neck, and Greg let go.

Prodding at Alex’s backpack, Greg utilizes a few ropes and scraps of cloth to make a sling. It wasn’t the best, but it sure beat nothing. As he tied it around Alex, he noticed that Kelvin was sitting by the fire and holding on to his right arm. He looked a little pale and shaky still.

Tying off the sling with a tight double knot, Greg fiddled with Alex’s arm and positioned his shoulder. He wanted to make sure it sat in the correct position so it wouldn’t heal wrong, making more of a problem. He moved the sling around the elbow, then moved the length of the cord until Alex shoe’s him away with an impatient ‘git’ kicking at him like a biting dog.

“Don’t even shrug that shoulder!” He nags after his retreating form.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll piss left handed!” Alex’s calls back, stomping off north of camp.

Shifting his attention to Kelvin, he watches him at the fireside for a minute. His hand is clamped over his right bicep, face looking pale as he stares somberly into the flames. Making himself comfortable next to him, Greg crossed his legs and sat down. He waited for Kelvin to acknowledge him there, not touching him yet.

When his eyes do make contact, Greg open his palm and waves it towards the arm he’s favoring. Kelvin looks down at his hand over his bicep, then back up to Greg with trepidation in his eyes. It must hurt, he looks worried.

Kelvin grimaces and takes the jacket off to reveal a swollen wound. No longer bleeding, Greg looks close to inspect the shiny red surface of it. About 40 millimeters in diameter, ugly teeth marks visible in the skin tear, it’s ghastly and has exposed some muscles tissue. It was a terrible bite, no skin could be connected to aid healing. This would have to heal and scar over. There was no possible way to skin graft here, and Greg wasn’t trained to do a skin graft in the first place.

This was going to be a festering problem without proper cleaning. Greg felt bad, the extent of the wound was already likely unbearable and disinfecting it was going to be horrible. Taking a careful look over the indentation of teeth along the skin tear, he saw no exposed blood vessels nor tendon, which was miraculous. The puffy red skin looked bad, the dry muscle a dull red with blood clotting in places, but with proper monitoring it could heal over.

Letting Kelvin go, he looked at him and saw a tired face with red rimmed eyes. Sullen and sunburned, he blinked tiredly at Greg and didn’t move. Feeling bad already for what he was about to do, Greg looked away and shook his head as he dug in his pack. Pulling out a cloth, he folded it over and over until it was a thick little rectangle. Turning to Kelvin, he held his eyes a while, then opened his mouth wide and kept it open. Greg then put the cloth in his mouth and bit it momentarily.

The fabric tasted musty and dried his tongue out. He opened his mouth and pulled it away. Holding it out to Kelvin, he waited for him to take it. Recognition lighting his hazel eyes, Kelvin took the cloth slowly and brought it to his mouth. Hesitating a moment, his eyes flick to Greg’s and then he bit the red cloth.

Swallowing hard, Greg leans in and reaches up to Kelvin’s mouth. Grasping the cloth, he pushes it against Kelvin’s teeth until they part for him. He stuffs the cloth in further, cupping his chin and moving his jaw a little to test the makeshift bite guard. Those hazel eyes were wide with surprise, and Kelvin made a strangled sound but kept the cloth where Greg placed it.

Letting go, Greg then gave his best apologetic look before pulling out a bottle of vodka. He unscrewed the cap, and Kelvin’s eyes grew round with dread. He seemed to know where this was going now, frowning deeply at him. Grasping him at the place between his shoulder and his neck, Greg squeezed him gently and held the alcohol at the ready. When Kelvin met his eyes, he tilted his head at him in question, to which Kelvin nodded his ascent.

“I’m sorry man.” Greg lamented, blowing out a long breath in sympathy as he poured vodka over the wound. Kelvin howled into the rag, body twisting in agony. Whining in pain, he groaned as his legs thrust and kicked out. Greg held him tight, splashing the wound again and wrapping a leg over one of Kelvin’s to restrain him and keep him still.

Kelvin’s left hand grasped Greg’s on his shoulder. He let out a whimper through his nose, drew a stuttering breath. All at once, Kelvin’s head fell forward and his body dropped slack. Greg doused the bite again, flushing out dirt and bark, it took a moment for him to absorb that Kelvin was being quiet because he had passed out.

He claps a hand over one cheek, patting it insistently and waiting for him for come back. Kelvin jerks awake, hand again grasping for Greg as he looks around gasping for air like he’d been underwater. Kelvin let out a groan, but stayed awake clinging to Greg.

Dousing another cloth with the vodka, Greg squeezes it out and douses it again for good measure before placing it over the injury. He tied it in place with a piece of frayed out mariners rope, making sure it would stay without constricting anything.

Finished, Greg sits back and looks him over. Kelvin is watching him too, his eyes bright and face red and sweaty. He looks exhausted, breathing hard and enduring the pain. He looks good though, alert and upright and in good shape. His sunburned chest was defined and buff, and Greg realized he hadn’t seen much fat tissue in the bite mark. Eyes roving up to the patch over the bite, Greg looked at the swell of muscle on Kelvin’s biceps.

‘He’s pretty fit’ Greg subconsciously admitted, eyes dropping to the trim waist, then immediately felt himself stall. Like a bucket of cold water, he froze in the wake of the thought.

Tearing his eyes away, he reaches for his jacket and thrust it toward Kelvin without looking. He didn’t want to see anymore, and stood up once the jacket left his fingers. Walking a few paces away, he clears his head and hums a tune he’d heard from the radio.

Busying his hands, he gathered twigs for stoking the fire and looked around for larger branches too. Returning to the fire, Kelvin was watching him already with an anxious face. Clearly he’s made Kelvin uncomfortable. He sits opposite him and pokes at the fire with purpose. His stomach turns nervously and he tries to act normal.

Staring at the fire, Greg counted multiples of 7 to distract himself and relax his own anxiety. By the time that got boring, Alex was walking back to camp. He sat down and looked expectantly at Greg.

“What’s to eat?” Alex smacked his lips ridiculously, waiting for Greg to provide.

Digging around the pack, Greg pulls out the last MRE and two coconut cherry energy bars. Alex whines loudly, making an exaggerated old man groan as he stands up and waddles away in displeasure. Whining again, Alex shouts over his shoulder.

“I’ll see what there is to forage!” He sullenly departs, still waddling as he disappears from view. As he waits for Alex to return, Greg takes the crinkly wrapper of the energy bar and rips it open. He takes a few bites. It’s crunchy and coconut sweet with tangy dried cherry bits. There’s some bland imitation chocolate in there too.

He sets the remaining energy bar aside for Alex to eat, then gives the half left to Kelvin. As he hands it off, Kelvin’s fingers linger a touch on his before withdrawing. His heart beats hard and he thinks it was accidental.

His stomach growls in outrage that his meal was three bites long, but there is still the MRE to look forward to. He hopes Alex can find something good, or maybe hunt a rabbit one handed. Better yet, maybe he’d find a creek and they could fish for breakfast. Glancing at Kelvin, Greg watches as he finishes the last of the energy bar. Unsatisfied and grouchy from his empty stomach, Greg waits for Alex to come back.

Hen of the woods fill Alex’s pockets as he walks back, he’s got his sling stuffed with them as well. Greg hollers out a thank you and tears off the top of the MRE and sets it aside to warm, glad that Alex got lucky on his quick walk. One pouch for three men to share was pitiful, but at least they will have a handful of mushrooms to add to the meal. As Alex empties his find onto a long flat rock, setting it over the flames and letting the mushrooms cook, he sings his own praises.

Picking up the MRE, Greg takes a few bites and hands it off to Kelvin. He held up four fingers and pantomimed spooning a bite. Then he pointed to Alex to indicate sharing after his turn. Kelvin nodded and dug in, a look of peace overtaking his face as he chewed.

‘He looks happier than the MRE deserves.” Greg mused, knowing just how odd the texture of that bite was. The flavor was passable, but the meat was soggy in consistency. Food was food though, a few bites more was something to be grateful for.

Once the mushrooms were half their size, Alex took them off the coals and scooped them onto a different rock. They smelled earthy and looked like puffy gold and cream colored feathers that shriveled. Greg watched for his brother to eat one first, unsure what flavor to expect. As Alex downed three in one bite, he looked perfectly content with the meal.

Popping one in his mouth, Greg thoughtfully chewed. It was soft in texture and robust in the musty taste, it smacked him hard. He heard Alex laughing as he made a face, and looked at him and found him laughing at Kelvin making a face similar to his own. He chewed up his bite quickly and swallowed, finding it had a peppery finish.

“That is a weird taste.” He commented, going in for more.

Finished with their meager breakfast, they kick out the fire and break down the tarp. Alex wants to head farther down toward the beach, he can see a river running out to one nearby on the GPS and they need to drink soon.

The sun shines brightly, another dry day ahead of them. They walk along in a line, Alex trudging ahead at full speed like usual. All the way to beach Greg can barely keep his brother in sight as he leads on. When they get close Greg drops back to rest some. Kelvin joins him shortly after, and they walk together toward the riverbed.

Alex is kneeling down, but not drinking. Instead he is staring straight ahead, still as a rock and looking at something up river. Greg follows his gaze and to his surprise, he see’s a woman.

She’s not far off, sitting in a ladylike pose and washing herself at the riverside. Her hair is drawn up in a ponytail, and very light blond. Her pale skin and white bathing suit make her a bright spot in the distance as she scoops water over herself and runs hands over her arms.. Her, many arms.

Doing a double take, Greg stands gawping at her. He can’t be seeing right, she looks like she has extra limbs. As Kelvin leans down for a drink, he splashes noisily and the woman’s head whips in their direction.

Rising to her feet, and yes she indeed had three, she took off quick as a doe. Greg just watched, still dumbfounded at what he’d just seen. Alex is stalking over, checking out the place she’d been and looking after her trail.

“Don’t know what that’s all about.” He remarks upon returning, only offering a shrug. They each spend time in the fresh water, cleaning up and drinking. It’s not ideal to drink untreated water, but there is little choice in the matter.

Alex leads them toward the cave marker on the GPS, mentioning his special orders had been to track the team sent there last month. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to Greg, what point is there in the special orders when everything has been so completely fucked from the start?

He can’t argue what else they should be doing, so he follows Alex. Kelvin sticks closer than usual, probably nervous about being snuck up on from behind again. Greg just feels horrible about that, for watching him get dragged away. It’s something he keeps thinking about.

The hissing waves crash against the rocky shoreline as they arrive at the mouth of the cave. Boards are impossibly nailed over the crack of an entrance, and Greg wonders why anyone would have done such a thing.

Pulling out his small axe, Alex yanks the boards off one by one and flings them aside. They hit the stone floor and clatter noisily, some shredding into bits as they impact with the ground. Greg feels uneasy about this.

“I don’t know dude, why do we need to go in there?” Greg just didn’t see why it was necessary. Cave diving was dangerous in the best of circumstances, with proper training and knowledge of the terrain. Alex, of course, just smirks at him and starts making a few chicken clucks at him.

“Yeah, that’s what. I’m chicken and not realistically concerned about dying in there.” His tone was sharp, his voice rising with the anger he felt. Alex yanked the last board free and put the small axe away to pull out the huge black one.

“I want to take a look, there might be something that can communicate off island with the missing team.” Alex started in, and Greg reluctantly did too but he noticed after walking in a few steps that Kelvin didn’t follow them. He turned back and looked for him.

Kelvin stood at the entrance looking skeptically in after them. Greg waved him to come in, and Kelvin shook his head emphatically ‘no’ and took a few steps backward. Greg stepped out of the cave and took Kelvin by the hand to lead him in after Alex, but he planted his feet and pulled Greg back.

Alex stomped his way back to them. He looked at their joined hands briefly, made a noise of disgust, and turned right back around.

“You fags have fun!” and Alex slips past the wooden slats blocking the cave entrance, his voice taking on a tone Greg doesn’t recognize.

Grinding his teeth in irritation, Greg shuts his eyes tightly and draws a very deep breath. He tries to summon his patience.

He is getting so very sick of the gay jokes.

[chloemydarling]

Chapter 5

Robbie…

People were running at them. Two were very large and painted red and on the wind with them came a smell of revolting decay. They weren’t far off and Robbie glanced around at his companions, frowning at Octane hurriedly dressing and only just now pulling on his socks. He wriggled into his shirt and shoes, readying his pistol, just as the approaching runners got close enough for Robbie to want some space for air. He choked back the oysters he’d eaten earlier, the smell was truly awful.

Turning to get away, Robbie bolted down the beach. As he ran he glanced back to see Buckshot swipe his axe at the midsection of a bone-clad enemy, managing to hook a bone and loosen the armor. He swiped again, making contact with the man beneath, and the bone vest broke apart in chips flew away as the enemy grabbed his stomach. Sinking to his knees, the disarmed warrior backed away but the axe swung down three times in swift succession.

The cannibal twitched his last movements while a different one slapped Buckshot with a loose hand across the face. Buckshot staggered back a step, then blocked the next swipe with the handle of the small axe in a defensive push that sent the attacker to the ground. Another enemy swung a weapon at him and a bullet shot through the head, dropping the cannibal instantly. Limbs lay awkwardly over the body, blood seeping into the sand.

Octane was aiming the pistol now at a giant swinging a heavy red fist at him. The fist was followed by a large foot, which made contact, knocking Octane off his feet like a child. He was kicked into the ground a second after. Octane rolled in pain, holding an arm close to his side, and aimed a wobbly hand with the gun again.

This time, he must have pulled the trigger because the giant buckled in the knees and tottered back a step until he went eerily still. Then he fell over, hitting the ground with a mighty shower of sand. Octane was already shooting at the other red giant, who was stomping his foot after Buckshot.

Robbie ran back to them a few yards feeling like he should do something, but what? He wasn’t strong enough to fight back, he couldn’t defend Buckshot and his heart leapt as the giant stamped his foot again. Two warriors held Buckshot down as the red giant chased him. He was dragging them as he evaded the giant’s feet, but his axe arm was held in one cannibals grip and he couldn’t get away.

Octane was reloading while the giant kept after Buckshot, and despair clawed at him as he saw Octanes injured arm drop the magazine clip. Robbie panicked. He was going to watch his friend die, and all he could do was stand there. If his friends died then he’d be all alone. He couldn't let that happen, he wouldn’t watch them die.

Leaving his fears behind him, running full tilt back to them, Robbie intersected the red giant. He stood before the towering, terrifying cannibal man and waved his arms at him for a second and took off again. He looked back with satisfaction to see the giant chasing him now. At least the big guy couldn’t run fast. Robbie hoped Buckshot had a chance now to get away, he didn’t dare look back yet for fear of slowing. He ran all the harder.

The sand changed texture as he neared the river outlet, his boots sinking deep as he dredged on fast as he could through it. Looking back he saw the big red jerk sink to one knee in the wet sandy banks. It struggled to a halt, and Robbie stopped running. With an unexpected jolt, the red man turned and Robbie saw an axe embedded in his skull.

Buckshot appeared behind him, placing one foot on a big red shoulder and yanking his axe free with both hands. A spray of red bloody mist spattered him and a large red hand reached out to swipe weakly, smearing Buckshot’s face. The blood covered him and looked like a mockery of the red cannibal. Buckshot looked terrifying, staring calmly down at the red giant as it faded away.

Octane ran up behind his brother and high fived him. They shared a cheer and Buckshot walked to the water and began to wash his face clean. Robbie started walking back to him, glad the bloody face was washing away. That look had bothered him, it was wrong, the look of a warrior on his friend’s face. Formidable and a little unhinged, it made Robbie worry about what his new friend was capable of besides doctoring up the injured. He was glad they were good fighter though, he didn’t want to fight with such uncoordinated hands.

Before he could see Buckshot’s face properly clean and looking like the man he knew, a punch landed between his shoulder blades and he went down to the wet sand. Pains flaring up from the impact, Robbie groaned as he rolled to one side and evaded another fist landing. Looking up, more bone clad warriors were crowding him from behind and he couldn’t get up fast enough.

One grabbed him by the shoulders and another grabbed his hair, and they threw his face down to the sand again. He shouted, he couldn’t tell if he was loud enough for his friends to hear but he kept shouting anyway in full panic. He fought to free his arms but twine was being wound around his wrists tightly, his hair being pulled kept him from struggling to a sitting position and instead he was tied and lifted.

Carried off like a hunt, he flung himself to get free of the man holding him over one shoulder but all he managed to do was become exhausted. His ribs ached and his stomach was sore from the bony shoulder digging into it. Off into the forest his captor ran with other cannibals flanking it.

A few must have stayed to fight, there weren’t as many as before, and the path they took was nonsensical to Robbie. Then again, he was easily confused these days. None of this forest was familiar, and Robbie began his struggle anew to get free. The shoulder in his stomach was hurting and he needed to move now. Throwing a knee into the chest of the cannibal, Robbie dove to the ground and grunted on impact. He struggled to his feet and ran blindly away tasting the dirt he’d landed on.

He didn’t get far. The cannibal companions had been ready for this and fell on him like lions on a gazelle, he was fucked. Tearing and yanking at his clothes, they dragged him and stole his gloves as they moved. He felt the steep terrain they traversed and like machines they tackled it. He was dangling as they dragged him uphill to his demise. He pulled against the arms, kicked his feet out and dug heels in the ground, but nothing stopped them. They hauled his ass right to the summit of that incline and ran on the plateau. Trees grew thinner and soon a clearing emerged in the distance.

All at once the air was thick with insects, flies swirling in heavy black clouds everywhere. Breathing was difficult, he couldn't stop tasting the rancid air whether he wheezed through his nose or through his mouth. He gagged and retched, eyes watering as they drew ever closer to a collection of red huts. Robbie struggled again but he was tired and his wildest efforts did little to stop them. He was thrown to the ground before the biggest giant he’d seen, a massive monster of a cannibal that was sitting on a throne of bodies.

It tilted it’s gold masked face at him, narrowed eyes beneath the mask looking cruel, gestured to the left with a massive club adorned with a skull and then every cannibal fell on Robbie. Each limb was held down by two hands, his nose hurt as his jacket was pulled forcibly over his head; his shirt following after it. His ears ached from the collar catching on them, his scalp sore where buttons dragged on the skin. They were touching his arms and pulling his hair.

The stench of them was horrific. They knelt by his head or sat on him to keep him from struggling and their unclothed, unwashed bodies so close to his face had him retching. Choked out by their stink, he could do little more than take the shallowest of inhales and gag. It was impossible to breathe. He felt his limbs buzzing and going numb while his gut threatened to revolt. He shouldn’t have eaten so many oysters.

They fought among themselves as they tore his shoes and socks, scratching arms and pushing each other for a chance at him. One of them holding his arms down leaned in and bit him, hard and long, right on his flexing bicep. Robbie screamed and flailed to get away thrusting his knees up, kicking out wildly but it was no use. There were too many on him. He couldn’t shake them.

Shooting pain reaching down to his finger tips sprung from the bite. Shaking his head side to side violently, the cannibal mauled him and tore off a chunk. Robbie howled in unbelievable pain. Flap of meat and skin in the teeth, chewing open mouthed over his head, the cannibal was pushed back by the forehead as more crowded in. Robbie wailed out his agony.

The searing burn of his exposed muscle was insanity to bear. He sobbed as quick hands slipped into his pant pockets, taking everything they touched. Too tired to fight back, he still tried to wriggle out of their grasp. He was spared the indignity of being stripped naked, his pants stayed on as they lifted him bodily to a stake.

He feels himself crying still as he pulls against the sharp, tight braids of rope binding him. He flinches as a few cannibals slap him while walking by, most of them departing as the scene was over now. Robbie’s fate was sealed. His throat hurt from crying, his bleeding arm throbbing and stinging incessantly. He didn’t want to die like this.

The sun hung angry in the cloudless blue sky, his skin was burning sitting so exposed in the open air. Thirst started to creep along his throat and weakness was taking him at last. He hung limply now, the mariners rope cutting into his skin making his wrists itch and burn. Miserable for what felt like so long he should die, Robbie jumped at every step taken toward him by any of the grown cannibals.

While he waited for his gruesome end, the few cannibals that remained at camp milled around half busy now. While some skinned a corpse and cut hunks of meat to set aside, others gathered sticks or water. Another few seemed to stand guard, glancing around and then back to each other in a repetitive sequence that Robbie couldn’t help but observe. He was roasting, and needed to think of anything else but his burning face.

The young ones sat around him, throwing little rocks at him, jumping, somersaulting or playing with their stolen things in front of him. The giant on his macabre throne watched them as they ran about like little hellions. A woman bringing him a cup bowed several times as she approached, the giant took the cup waving her away and drank deeply.

Robbie swallowed dryly as he watched. Imagining a sip of river water made his throat ache. He parted his dry lips to take a breath and closed his eyes, swallowing painfully. He wanted anything to stop the maddening need. He wanted water, he wished it would rain.

He felt sweat trickle down his face, his eyes stinging as it rolled past his brow. His bitten arm felt swollen and was aching through to his elbow and wrist. He looks down at his right arm and see’s streaks of blood in trails down his body. A dark patch of sand below him is ever widening as the drops soak into the ground.

Unrelenting sun is killing him, his lips are cracking and his face is burning. It hurts all over, he’s trying not to move anymore for the pain of burnt skin. Glancing up, he sees the sun has sunk considerably, it is late afternoon now. The little ones have grown bored of him and gone to play in the river. An aroma of cooking meat lifts up to meet his face, and he tries not to inhale it.

‘Will they kill me tonight?’ he despairs, half wishing it were over. He wasn’t ready to die, but he couldn’t stand this any longer.

Wind took up fast, stinging him. Skin and exposed muscle protesting any stimulation, Robbie grit his teeth to endure it. He was too parched to cry, too tired to scream anymore. At least the wind carried the smell of Hell’s barbecue away from him. He hadn’t vomited yet but that might have done it.

Sweet fresh air filled his lungs for the first time in hours, it was like diving into clear water. Closing his eyes with relish, he tasted wet dirt on the wind. He sucked in the cool air between his grit teeth, waiting to feel the change of weather. He panted, greedy for deep breaths to clear his nose and mouth of the lingering smells of rot.

Wind cools another noticeable amount, and the air is heavy with ambient moisture. Like nature is holding it’s breath, the clouds move slowly in. The break from blistering sun is enough to make him moan in relief, when rain breaks out in misting sheets it’s almost bliss.

He opens his mouth, letting his parched tongue soak in the tiny droplets. Though it did nothing to slake his thirst, he couldn't deny it was marvelous to feel a wet mouth again; his lips no longer stuck to teeth. Skin and bite still ever painful, the rain was now awakening nerves that he wished he didn't have. There was nothing he could do but sit there.

A rising figure drew Robbie’s attention to the king cannibal. The giant is standing, pointing his gruesome club and holding a menacing stance. Smaller cannibals are leaping to defend him, even the children roll in to join them.

Swiftly the king leaves his throne of Frankenstein to charge forward, and meeting him halfway through the camp at full charge is one of his friends wielding a black axe. Fresh tears prickle his eyes, and he struggles to breathe past the lump rising in the back of his throat. He can’t believe it.

Choking past tears and snot, he struggles anew at his confines. His battered wrists scream at the friction, he doesn’t care. Bending his spine and pulling his ankles apart, he thrashes and struggles and wriggles to loosen the ropes. He watches as a twin swings the large axe wide, three cannibals diving away from him and backing off. The king is down to one knee and looking tired.

Hands touching Robbie make him shout, yanking himself away and flinching. His throat burns and he coughs roughly. Sore skin on his wrists is being aggravated, making him grimace, and he realizes that his ropes are being sawed through. Inhaling sharply he opens his eyes to his savior, beautiful black eyed Buckshot.

‘He came for me!’ his mind reeled. ‘They didn’t let me die!’ Delirious with relief, his mind repeated the thought over and over until he felt his arms loosen. Feeling spiked through his numb hands, he flexed his sore fingers. They were fat with blood and hurt as he moved them slowly. He winced at the pins and needles rushing in his fingers now.

He was nearly free, and Buckshot placed one hand on his sun-burnt chest to brace him as his support cut away. Falling, Robbie flung his arms out and grasped onto Buckshot. Steadying them both, Buckshot one handed sawing the ropes at Robbie’s ankles.

It was slower than Robbie liked. Panic began rising in him again as Octane battled the entire camp alone. They needed to get away now. His grip was fierce on Buckshot’s shoulder and the knife chewed through the aged rope with difficulty. Once he could feel some give, Robbie slipped one foot above the other and let a leg out. He quickly got his other foot free and landed on the ground shakily. Rocked by the impact, he groans and rolls to his side.

Wheezing, he hastily wipes his face and rises to his feet. Buckshot held him up, pulling one arm over his shoulder and running into the forest awkwardly. Robbie soon gained his posture and was able to let go of Buckshot to run faster. They bolted away, downhill and into darkening trees as the sun sank past the mountain. The rain kept on in the fine mist, coating them until they dripped and sputtered in the discomfort of it.

Robbie’s face was feeling cold, while his sunburn blistered and burned. It was hard to choose what was worse, and his lungs soon stabbed with sharp pains from running so long. On they went, Robbie having to slow to a jog and follow Buckshot’s form in the dark. He didn’t want to stop either, feeling the cannibals nip at his heels as he ran barefoot.

His feet were numb and fumbling as he ran, so cold with pins and needles that he was undoubtedly hurting them with debris he couldn’t feel. He followed his friend close as he could, which was farther than felt safe to Robbie.

‘Take a break man?’ he fretted.

A branch caught him in the dark, stabbing his bicep and making him yelp. He dropped to his knees. He brought a trembling hand to the bloody gash, and tried to examine it but the dark was too dense now. He panted controlled breaths and tried not to make any more sound as he rode out the wave of pain. His bicep was bleeding anew from the sharp branch.

A hand touched him on the back of his shoulder, and he just about died of fright, but it was Buckshot. His friend knelt beside him, he couldn’t see his face. Robbie could feel his close form in the cold, the hand on his shoulder hurt his skin but he welcomes it. He was glad to be alive. Glad to have a friend that would come save him, not leave him behind.

Buckshot rubbed a few excruciating, well meaning, circles on his back then slid his hand down to grasp Robbie’s left hand. Pulling him up, Buckshot lead the way in the dark at a fast walk. Robbie was grateful he wasn’t making him run, he was so exhausted.

They trudged downhill forever, then up a small knoll that opened into a young patch of hazelnut shoots. The little trees were just a breadth taller than they were, and the ground was even and mostly flat. Here Buckshot stopped and let go of Robbie.

Falling to the ground in a heap, Robbie let his body fester in the wet grass. Absolutely everything hurt, he couldn’t place a spot on him that wasn’t alight with hatred for being. The aches in his body could make him weep, the stinging pulse in the bite felt brutal and his head was spinning as he laid there.

Catching his breath was hard in the mist, but soon the droplets lessened some. He was so eager for rain as he’d suffered in the heat, now he wished for the opposite. It was so cold deep in the night and surrounded by trees. He was shivering as the wind gentled and the rain let up with a few last drops across his face.

The source of reprieve was a tent raised over his head, a small canopy of silver guarding him. He sat up as Buckshot climbed in beside him, their shoulders bumping as he settled in the little fort. He set a few stones as a base from the wet grass and laid kindling with dry leaves from his pocket and set them ablaze.

Adding stick after stick slowly, Buckshot built up a blaze that was strong enough to live against the light rain. Sitting back comfortably, Buckshot looked at Robbie, who realized he’d been staring at Buckshot the whole while.

His facial features were cast in firelight, glowing in orange flickers that changed and roved over his face. His stern face looked worried. His black eye was darker than yesterday, but he could open both eyes all the way now.

Buckshot reached out a hand and grasped the spot on Robbie’s arm that had been bitten. Hissing in pain he flinches away, trembling from the shock of it. Hand still reaching for him, Buckshot hesitates a moment, then carefully brings the arm back. Robbie allowed him to, knowing he could help. He inspects it in the dark, frowning. He took out some debris, wood maybe, and Robbie drew a sharp breath. It stung. He embraced the sensation this time.

The pain meant he was alive. Buckshot gingerly plucked out more bits of wood.

Robbie felt giddy for a moment, high on sheer life. He was soaking up the cold of the wind, the warmth of the fire, the knowing touch of a healer. Hurt as he was, his friend tended his wounds. A short laugh left him as he tasted the air. He wasn’t going to die yet.

Crumpling over, the reality of what he just lived through breaks him. He crosses his arms over his chest hugging himself, Buckshot must have let him go. Laughing, sobbing, Robbie can’t stop the hysteria that takes his breath to fast and shallow gasping. He’s feeling faint.

Solid warmth enshrouds him, he can’t move. Robbie finds himself being held. Buckshot’s arms around him hurts his bare skin, but the pain is worth it. He needs to be held right now. Robbie buries himself in the other man’s jacket, turning into his friends chest with relief and horror. He tries to clear his thoughts of what he remembers but the fear grips him and he just gives in.

He holds on to Buckshot’s jacket and cries. He’s embarrassed, and he also can’t care right now. He’s too worn out, so stressed and beaten down. He’s scared they’re going to die here. He can’t inhale all the way and trembles and chokes on his gasps as he spirals down. His chest aches with his sobs.

Shuddering gasps escape him, and he comes to find he is being rocked gently. Buckshot is holding him and taking slow deep breaths. The steady rise and fall is guiding Robbie, his gasps drawing out longer. He tries to follow along, his body beginning to go slack.

He focuses on Buckshot breathing slowly, he tries to resist the hiccups that come from crying so hard. A shuddering deep breath brings some looseness, he takes another deep pull. He sags, allowing himself to calm at last as he exhales exaggeratedly long. Buckshot doesn’t hurry him, he patiently keeps meditatively breathing and rocking him back and forth.

Sighing in relief, his head clearing now, Robbie found his arms were wrapped around Buckshot too. As he comes back to himself the mortification sets in. He suddenly feels very foolish.

He pulls back from the embrace, not meeting the other mans eyes, and struggles to clear his throat. His hiccups are so embarrassing and make his deep breaths difficult, and he just wants to be done humiliating himself.

Staring at the flames and salvaging what dignity he can, Robbie manages to calm his ragged breaths. He is still sitting close with Buckshot, and he peeks over to see him removing his flak jacket. Robbie watches as the heavy material lifts, the black hem of a shirt underneath rising and exposing a hairy belly line before sliding higher above the navel.

Head lost in the depths of the jacket, fingers pulling the sleeve over one shoulder, the pale skin of Buckshot’s arm flexed with brawny definition. It surprised him, and Robbie’s eyes widened as he looked at the flow of motion as the jacket slid away. It wasn’t just his arms that were defined.

Buckshot emerged beneath with a head of ruffled dark hair and a smile as he offered the article of clothing. Taking it gratefully, Robbie returned his grin and pulled it on. He was so cold, and the jacket was already warm from Buckshot’s body heat. His skin stung and chills rippled through his body from the rough contact over his abused skin, but there was nothing he could do about that.

Trembling from shock more than the cold, Robbie huddled in on himself and shrunk into the jacket. It smelled wonderfully of laundry soap like before, and familiarly of Buckshot’s sweat. His smell was comforting and so much cleaner than the wild people that had mobbed him earlier. He inhaled deep breaths of it, glad to smell something nice. Glad to be breathing.

Buckshot pulled an orange bottle from his pockets and handed some to him. Swallowing them dry, Robbie worked up spit for each pill before gulping them one by one. His stomach churned as they settled there, a terrible taste lingering on his tongue. As they sat and fed sticks into the fire, Robbie’s trembling didn't cease.

He grew weary and slumped back from the effort of trying to keep still. He noticed Buckshot eying him. He felt his the man shifting and them companionable arm hugged him in close. A hand running up and down his arm calmed his trembling and he dropped his head to rest on a shoulder. Hiding in a tarp, huddled by a small fire, and curling into his friend, Robbie in that moment felt comfort for the first time since waking up after the wreck.

Sleep tugged at his brain, but he didn’t want to give up. He fiddled with his hands to keep himself engaged in something, cleaning his fingernails and moving his left thumb to spin his wedding band. His eyes widened as his thumb slipped right past and into his palm. He brought his hand up, looking at it with remorse. His wedding band was gone.

Letting out a jagged breath, his friend tilted his head questioningly at him in response. Robbie just leaned in further, needing warmth and pushing the half remembered thoughts away. He shouldn’t dwell on her right now, but he cant picture her face and it bothers him. His shivering is calming down but the cold is still bothering his ears and nose. Sleep tempted him again, a yawn reaching deep into his being as he stretched one arm overhead.

He wanted to keep watch, he was ready to spot enemies and flee. His tired eyes played tricks on him, but any time he jumped from a phantom in the woods Buckshot would tighten his grip and rub his arm comfortingly. He brought his hand to rest between Robbie’s neck and shoulder, squeezing there gently a few times. Sighing, Robbie relaxed and gave in to fatigue.

Head rolling to the side, he startles awake. He looks up and finds his feet are propped up on a section of a log now and Buckshot is still rubbing his arm soothingly as they huddle. He was comfortable enough to stay there. Buckshot meets his eye, his lips curling in a half smile, then looked back at his free hand. He was watching the GPS intently. The arm around him rubbed his shoulder again and Robbie relaxed.

He watched the flames, focused on the rising flickering orange darting up and disappearing. Embers twirled slowly through the darkness and fizzle away. Night is growing late and Robbie breathes in the smell of firewood and smoke tiredly.

Laying his cheek against Buckshot’s chest, he sighs and tries to fall asleep again. It feel’s so embarrassing to be held like this, but the ground is not an appealing option. The chest under the black tee feels cushy with muscle and is radiating warmth. He can get over himself for comforts sake. Robbie ignores the pounding in his chest, tucking his face into Buckshot and taking a deep breath.

‘This isn’t so bad’ He muses, finding he actually doesn’t mind the stink of a man. It was much easier to breathe him in than the cannibals body odor. Closing his eyes, he drifted back into the dreamless oblivion.

[chloemydarling]

Chapter 4

Greg…

Birdsong in exuberant, lilting chatter brought him to the brim of dreaming. He could feel a sore place under his ribs, and an ache in his neck as the world engaged his sleep addled mind. Blearily opening his eyes, wincing at the shock of morning sun, Greg yawned and stretched his shoulder's, feeling a deep pop in the right one. He groaned with the long stretch, feeling his ribs slip into place.

He stood up from the tent, the last one awake. Scratching his belly, he looks around for a familiar face. Curling fog rose from the tops of pine trees like thick, lazy smoke. Patches of sunlight roamed over the land, one currently making it’s presence on their campsite. He yawned and wondered where Alex had gone after he had woken up.

Off to the right was Kelvin, sitting on a flat top of a boulder and warming himself like a lizard in the sun. Getting up and sleepily stumbling to him, Greg looks into his eyes and gages the pupil reaction. Greg notices that his eyes are a hazel color; intermittently shades of brown and grey. He looked fine, better than yesterday with reaction time and focus as well. Satisfied that his companion is on the mend, he pats his cheek and lets him go. He chuckled at the face Kelvin makes at that.

His belly growls and an unpleasant cold feeling rumbles throughout his gut. He needs food now. Raspberry bushes tangled up and snarled all together sit heavily around the east side of their camp. He walked by Kelvin and waved his good morning.

As Greg sat by a berry bush, Kelvin made himself comfortable too and they plucked as many raspberries as they could see. Soft, tart and plentiful, they don’t feel very filling but are a pleasure to taste. They ate, watching bugs fly around and birds swoop after them. It was a dry morning and everyone seemed to be out getting the warmth while it lasted. Even a beaver sauntered past the riverbed in a businesslike hurry.

Half an hour later, after many berries are eaten, Alex strolls into camp with a rabbit by the ears. Leaving the bush rather bare, Greg rises up and greets his brother heartily. Alex smiles back and gestures to his face.

“You got something right here” He laughs at him, pointing to his chin.

Greg’s hand shot up to wipe whatever it was away, feeling a smear of raspberry squish along the back of his hand. He laughs, he’d been stuffing himself like a hog. He was so glad Alex could hunt. The hunger was gnawing at his belly, his appetite only stoked by the raspberries.

His brother set to the task of skinning the rabbit, a gross and sad display, so Greg looked away. He admired the treetops swaying in the wind, the puffy clouds crawling overhead. Alex makes a disgruntled sound, and then a squelch of wet meat and bones being skewered meets Greg’s ears. Grimacing in disgust, Greg doubted he would find the meat appetizing after that.

Alex spit to the side and set the rabbit to lean over the flames. As their breakfast roasts over the fire, the forest is alive with sound and movement. Not just birds flying by in looping patterns but deer darting between trees, raccoons waddling along game trails, and humming birds flitting by.

Chirps and screeches sound off loudly, and Greg see’s two black squirrels fighting in ultra violent combat. Jumping and kicking like little ninjas, they met and rolled and jumped apart. Quick as they had started, squawking, they were gone up a tree to fight somewhere else. Slowly, the usual sounds of the forest drifted in again.

He finds his eyes resting on Kelvin, who is yawning and stretching out. Settling back comfortably, his eyes close and he takes in the breeze that rustles his short hair. He smiled to himself as his head dropped back. Sighing through his nose, Greg felt his belly remind him once again that it was time to eat. Remembering some berries in his vest pocket, he unclasps the stash and fills his hand.

As he eats one at a time, his gaze rests in the direction of the river. Kelvin sits not far from him, not quite sleeping but resting. He’s watching Kelvin’s face again, wondering about who he was before this and thinking on what he is like now. He waits for the rabbit to cook and doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Alex waves a hand in his face and draws out a long ‘heeellloooo’ at him

“What?” He shakes his head, unsure where his mind had been. Had Alex been talking to him?

“Where are you man?” Alex asked in a tone that seemed to imply something, wiggling his eyebrows at him and looking at Kelvin suggestively. Greg felt his face go hot. Waving away his brother’s hand, he looked the opposite direction of Kelvin and flipped his brother off.

“I was daydreaming about food, is it done?” He was too hungry to care how disgusting it had looked, the aroma of roasting meat had his mouth watering now. It had to be nearly done.

“Not even close dude.” Alex stares a moment, eyes narrowing at him and glancing to Kelvin and back. “Did you hear what I was saying?”

Greg shrugged, nonverbally admitting that no, he didn’t. He looked at his brother with a half smile, made a finger gun at him to say ‘alright, shoot’ paying attention now. Alex gave him a flat look, and began again.

“I saw an orange raft adrift when we flew in, and one of B team’s locator's is sitting in it now. We gotta get to the water and see who it is. Find out why their pilot offed himself. It shouldn’t be more than two hours hike to get there.” Alex checked his satellite phone and frowned at the screen, then seemed to check out as he thought about something. Greg waited, but Alex was absorbed. Then Alex pulled out some twigs from his pocket and started to whittle them.

Greg watched the rabbit cook, eager for it to be ready. He let his mind wander as he stared unseeing at the fire. After 30 more minutes, Alex seemed to deem it worthy and took it down. Greg wanted to dig in, but Alex had plans to let the meat rest a while and then cut it up. As he impatiently sat there and waited, Kelvin walked over to joined them around the fire.

Plopping down next to Greg, he leaned in to warm his hands at the fire, eyes trained on the cooling roast rabbit. Greg watched his posture, how he balanced on the balls of his feet and caught himself every few seconds as he veered to one side. Kelvin glanced his way and smiled, so he smiled back. Then Alex’s face slid into view.

He was making a manic lovey dovey expression, a gross puckered smirk and crossed eyes as he swooned at Kelvin. Rolling his eyes, Greg ignores him. Refusing to look at him, he lays back and watches the clouds float by. His stomach groans long and unhappily.

At long last the rabbit was ready to eat. Alex began with tearing the haunches and cutting up hunks of meat. Greg ate, luxuriating in every mouthful and feeling surprised that unseasoned meat can be tastier than expected. He even licks his fingers clean once his portion has been wolfed down. He rubbed his stomach and remembered the last bite with fondness.

As he lazed in after meal sluggishness, Alex handed him one of the twigs he had been whittling earlier. Raising an eyebrow at him, he took it. Greg saw one end was finely frayed like a brush. He twiddled it in his fingers, rolling it around and watching the paintbrush end twirl. He dusted off his shoulders with it like a butler for a tuxedo.

“That’s your toothbrush, rub your teeth and gums then swish out your mouth at the river.” Alex smirked at him as he played with it like a little flying witches broom. Greg took the other one for Kelvin and showed him what to do with it. They all took time cleaning their teeth, the rabbit meat had been stringy.

Starting to head downhill, Alex also handed him some thorns from the canes of raspberry bushes. He said to use them as toothpicks, then lead the way in his brutish trail blazing. Greg handed some thorns to Kelvin, after showing him, like before, what to do with them.

While hiking at a steady pace, they come across a red tent within 40 minutes. It has overgrowth all over it, blackberry vines and hanging moss creeping over the top. No signs of any campers remain. There aren’t any footprints, fire pit remains or food wrappers. For a long while Alex observes the campsite, tracing movements and visibly thinking hard. Grim faced, he lifts his right hand and motions them onward. Whatever Alex surmised from what little there was to see, he didn’t like it.

They cross a river, shallow water babbling lively, and follow it down a long straight bank. Soon Greg can hear seagulls crying and smell the briny air of the beach. He picks up his speed a little, eager to get there. He always liked visiting a beach, something about the sound of the waves rolling in was very calming.

Kelvin caught up to him, meeting shoulder to shoulder as he walked. Greg was glad to see him faring better with exertion today, or maybe Alex had been more conscious of the taxing effort while injured and set a better pace. Either way, he was glad for the company as he followed Alex’s icon.

Following the little dot that is his brother, Greg hears a distant sound of a radio and the crushing roar of waves. At the end of the river bank waits the beach. The dirt path gives way to loose sugar sand, and walking becomes more challenging.

Greg breathes in the salty, misty air of the pacific. The sun was warm and the wind was chilly. He felt a popping sensation under his boot and lifted it to find a broken shell imprinted in the sand. He couldn’t tell what kind it was, but it was itty bitty and gone now.

‘They surf comes in this far huh?’ He observed, thinking he could dig for shellfish at the right time.

Nearing Alex, the radio switched from music to a commercial break. His brother sat hunched on the balls of his feet, glaring down at the rocks. Greg hollered to him, but could tell he was ignored. Approaching, he started to understand why.

They had come across a dead man in Puffton gear. Another dead team mate. What was going on? Could it have been the local mud guys? Alex looks him over still, assessing whatever he can from this.

All Greg can see is that he broke his right ankle and then laid down to die. Maybe he’d hit his head harder than Kelvin and didn’t make it. That thought made Greg’s stomach turn. It was impossible to know why this merc was dead, things just didn’t add up.

Alex began checking the backpack of the dead guy, not speaking as his nimble fingers rifled quickly for anything useful. Greg feels weird about it, though he understands being pragmatic. Still, it is very bizarre and he can’t help in this situation. Instead he stares unhappily at the water, where a far distant emergency raft is apparently still drifting nearby.

Kelvin catches up and frowns at the findings. He turns around, and walks along the shoreline alone. Greg guesses Kelvin must be bothered by death, or maybe he just can’t stand this dire situation that keeps exponentially getting worse. Deciding to join in the beach stroll, Greg leaves Alex to his looting.

It really is a lovely place, a little slice of paradise if the cold doesn’t scare you. Rocky mountains and hillsides drop off into sheer cliffs over the roiling ocean below. Craggy lava formations curl like tentacles of a sea monster, dipping in and out of the depths as waves lap at them endlessly. Greg see’s seagulls gliding in the distance.

Kelvin has noticed him trailing close behind, glancing back and then stalling so Greg can catch up. The water is breaching the line of touching their shoes, but the tide rolls back just before making contact. Greg listens to the foamy hiss of the water, the rushing pull and trickle as it tumbles its way back to them.

The morning is wearing down into noon, the hot sun burning away the clouds and leaving an unexpected blue sky above their heads. It feels great, and the wind is mild on their faces. Greg had to hand it to billionaires, they knew how to spend their money. A private beach was pretty damn nice.

‘We might get sun burnt’ Greg worries as Kelvin leads their walk. Peeling skin was at risk of infection, and this was a rain forest teeming with harmful antigens. Staying closer to the trees would be smarter. Pulling on Kelvin’s jacket sleeve, he walks toward the shore pines that lean wind beaten at the edge of the forest.

Before they make it, Alex comes jogging up with the radio blaring some lively song repeating ‘Hey You’. Bouncing to the rhythm, Alex hands the radio off to Kelvin and tells him to be the hype man form now on. Kelvin smiles back, Greg hopes that it won’t harm his perforated ears. It was his hope that they were healing.

They sat down and Greg started collecting debris wood for a fire. A tall sand dune provided shelter from the wind, and Greg set some twigs in up for kindling. Alex pulled his shirt off, kicked off his shoes and rolled his socks into a squid fold, then stuffed them in his right shoe. Alex volunteers to swim out to the raft.

“You can stay here with your boyfriend, cuddle up again.” Alex chided, taking off at a jog before hearing Greg’s retort to shut the Hell up.

Greg collects mussels with Kelvin by the shore, then they head back to the fire. They share the task with good humor, setting them up to steam and shucking them when enough times passes. It’s a bright sunny day and the wind is gentle. Greg would even be having a good time if they weren’t marooned here.

Half an hours passes after eating, and then Alex comes wading ashore looking sour faced. Even as he sits down to a stack of oysters after walking the beach, he was winded and breathing hard. He is shaking, and Greg looks into his face.

Alex is pale, his eyes wide and alert as he cracks open shell after shell. He looks entirely freaked.

“What happened?” Greg gently prods. His brothers intense eyes snap to his, a look of fear in them that Greg hasn’t seen since they were twelve.

“There was a fuckin’ shark out there!” Alex spouted, voice cracking.

“It followed me as I swam to the raft, I didn’t see him until I pulled myself up. Jesus, my heart dude.” He placed a hand over his heart in emphasis.

Greg felt a dreadful pang of worry settle deep in his gut. Latent worry, he realized. Alex could have died out there, and here he was stuffing himself oysters.

“I stabbed it in the eye, I don’t know if it died.” Alex gulped, and Greg rubbed his back in circles for a few minutes. He waited for Alex to stop shaking.

He looked in the backpack for a cloth and gave it to Alex, who dried his hair off. Laying down on the sandy dunes to dry in the sun, Alex rubbed his faced and took a few deep breaths.

“That’s not all man. The guy from Bravo team. He shot himself. He ate his last MRE and pulled the trigger. Bastard’s been dead since yesterday. I got extra clips from him, it’s not much but hey.”

Reaching into his pocket, Alex pulls out a rectangle. He unzips the plastic envelope the emergency kit came in, and pulls out a .9mm pistol. Greg stares at it, impressed with Alex’s quick thinking.

“I don’t know about the last beacon. It hasn’t moved at all. It’s far away too, it’ll take three days to get there if the terrain is manageable.” Alex is talking to him with the towel over his face, his voice muffled and not at all clear so Greg assume he is thinking out loud.

His attention moves to Kelvin when he realizes the man isn’t sitting with them. Looking out he see’s a familiar gait roving not too far from them.

Kelvin is looking for seashells in the sand, he thinks, and Greg watches him hunt. Taking in the subtle changes in him as he healed up over the last twenty four hours is promising. He guessed he was doing fine, he was independent enough to see to his own needs and lend a hand with work. He still didn’t try to speak or write. He looked good though, despite how tired he must be.

As he watches, Kelvin looks at him and smiles, then stiffens up and points with a look of alarm. Following the direction Kelvin pointed, Greg turns to see seven figures running at them, two of which stood at monstrous heights. Closer up, he see's they are painted red and dressed in bone armor.

[chloemydarling]

Chapter 3

Robbie…

His breath hitches, the sting in his spine with each step Buckshot takes is jolting his bones. Aches assail him as he struggles to hold himself right. His thighs bear the brunt of his weight in a bruising protest. Still, Robbie appreciates being carried.

He wasn’t sure how to hold himself, or where to rest his arms, and awkwardly shifted around embarrassingly often. Buckshot made no gesture of complaint though, he patiently accommodated to each shift of Robbie’s weight. He marched on, following the bent twig path through the woods and deep muddy boot prints that marked where the other man had gone.

Squirrels leaped away as they neared. Darting creatures in shades of brown and black that were more or less just quick little shapes scurrying up into the trees. He might have seen a rabbit darting away, but it was too fast for him to see. Shifting his weight, he brought his arms around Buckshot’s chest and propped himself over his left shoulder.

The pain of his weight pressing down on his thighs was awful, and he wondered if Buckshot could feel it too on his hips. Robbie was making an effort to tough it out, it certainly beat trying to keep up with them through the forest. His eyes began to droop as they carried on for what felt like hours. He wanted to rest, sleep for a while. The lurching footsteps made it impossible to fall unconscious, despite his trying.

‘Where are we going?’ He wondered, seeing much of the same woods as before.

He rested his chin on Buckshot’s shoulder, tired neck muscles needing a break. He dropped his shoulders and sighed. Bored, he looked at his clasped fingers over Buckshot’s chest and picked at his nails. He sighed again, holding back a groan of discomfort when another jolt of pain down his spine surprised him. He bit the soft inside of his lip. The stinging passed. They walked on.

They weaved in and out of the pine trees, steep hillside and thick vegetation making it slow going. Buckshot must be tired at this point, but he isn’t slowing down. Robbie watches a drop of sweat roll down his neck, slipping into the black undershirt and disappearing. Despite the constant cold wind, he was sweating in the sun.

Buckshot marches on. Heavy step landing after heavy step, until they made it far down the mountain side. Robbie can smell the man’s sweat and breath now. Wide flexes of Buckshot’s ribcage indicated his labored breathing. He can feel him panting beneath his sore thighs, and decides that’s enough of being carried.

Robbie grasped his shoulders and dropped his legs. Landing hard on his heels, he tapped Buckshot on the shoulder and led him to the stream nearby. Noting the absence of his smell, which had been a mix of sweat and laundry detergent, he pointed to the water and gave the man some space. He hopes he is being clear enough. His companion nods his head and bends down to the stream and cups water to his lips.

As Buckshot drank, Robbie scouts the river bank for what was nearby. He noticed blueberries clustered in bunches and inspected further. Collecting pockets of only good ones, he smiles proudly as he hands them over. Buckshot accepts with a smile, tossing handfuls in his mouth at a time to munch greedily. A prominent left cheek dimple catches his eye, and Robbie can’t help but objectively appreciate his features. Why did this guy look so handsome? His gaze grew intent, and then he caught himself.

Closing his eyes Robbie took deep breaths and relished the sun on his face. Leaning his head back on his sore neck, he sighs. The air tasted of wood and greenery and was sweet from the fragrant blueberry bushes.

His pounding head was almost bearable at times, like now. The wind did help. Fresh, cold and slightly salty; they must be near the sea. Something touching his face startled him out of his observations and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Both hands flicking over his face and off of him, he looks around wildly for a spider.

What he found was blueberries squished on his clothes and a laughing Buckshot looking slightly guilty. His glinting dark eyes soften a touch, patting Robbie’s back twice, and mouths something short at him. Maybe it was sorry? He didn’t know, he couldn’t read lips, but this side of his companion was unexpected. Robbie felt himself laugh, then felt hot embarrassment flash over him. He didn’t know how to control his voice. He was sure he didn’t sound right.

Resigned, he popped a few berries in his mouth to busy himself. As he chewed, a sour berry made him cringe and he saw his companion crack a smile. Robbie felt some relief that Buckshot was being so kind. He was grateful for it.

Buckshot’s eyes widen and his expression changes. His head is still, like a hound noticing something. An awful smell drifts on the wind toward them. Some stench of sweet smelling decay that hung int the air and made his stomach churn revoltingly. When Robbie follows Buckshot’s eyes, he see’s a naked man standing in a hunched position by the berry bushes. The man was caked head to toe in mud and looked to be threatening them with shaking fists and tossing small rocks.

Two more roll out from the bushes, smelling just as ripe and jumping around too fast for Robbie’s sore eyes to track. Glancing at Buckshot with worry, he is dismayed to find he is reaching out a hand to make friends with these wild men. The mud guy, who is slapping the ground like a lunatic, only seems to get more riled up. The horrible stink of them is all around now, there is no air to breathe.

This didn’t look good. More ran in, one running on all fours, and a hard thunk hits Robbie in the chest. Looking down, he saw it was a rock that definitely left a bruise. Backing up, a foot kicked his ass and he fell forward. Catching himself with extended arms Robbie hand walked through the momentum to right himself, looking rather stupid most likely, and took off running.

He hoped Buckshot was running too, he couldn’t chance staying to fight. His eyes couldn’t follow the fast movements, he was having a hard enough time managing the forest path. Running and dodging fallen trees until his lungs burn, his legs screamed with every step.

A bout of dizziness had him wobbling on his unsteady feet. Dropping to the ground, he caught his breath and willed the nausea away. The air was cold and sharp, his overheated skin feeling moist. He gulps down breath after breath, his heart hammering away in his chest. He waits for his head to stop spinning, closing his eyes and feeling himself rock and sway where he sat.

The endless trees are empty looking, smoke trails caught his eyes as he looked around for enemies catching up. He was close enough to smell the wood burning. Once he gathered his courage, he made up his mind to investigate.

Standing up, he did his best to catch his breath quietly. He moves toward the direction of the black smoke haze drifting skyward. Cautious, he edges closer through the underbrush to see what the source could be. Peering through a massive group of tall ferns and scrub trees, he see’s a man all alone chopping wood.

Baffled, he stares at Buckshot, who is busily stacking fallen tree limbs in an orderly way around a merry campfire. Unbelieving, Robbie rubs his eyes and looks again. He still see’s Buckshot, now looking at him with surprise. He walked up to him smiling, relieved to see him unharmed, but was met with an unfriendly scoff.

‘Did I miss something?’ Robbie wonders, absently reaching a hand to rub the side of his head.

Near the front, right side he feels such a constant pulsing headache it’s near murder on him. He wouldn’t be surprised to have been passed out for a moment and not realize it. That made him worry. He looked at the sky and gaged the sun. It was still afternoon, high in the sky but ascending. He didn’t seem to be missing time.

‘So how is he here already?’ his inner voice persisted. He couldn’t get it to make sense. So turned around inside, he shrugged and let it go. He’d hit his head, he would leave it at that.

‘Don’t worry about it’ he reassured himself. ‘You’re fine’ He thought, sitting down with finality.

He focused instead on catching his breath and slowing his galloping heartbeat. He took in the stones circling the campfire, the tarp made into a tent. The stack of tree limbs making one wall that would brace them from the wind. It looked like he’d been here for a while.

As he watched Buckshot he noticed how rigid his posture looked. Every movement was straight with intent, efficient. His demeanor impatient. He was acting so very different from how he’d been earlier. Was something wrong? Concerned, Robbie frowned as he thought about helping make the stick wall when a pair of boots appeared across the fire from his feet.

Meeting him with a familiar dimpled smile, was Buckshot. Only, this one was laying back and letting his shoulders drop with relief. He held his eyes with a crinkled smile, and Robbie noticed the swollen, purple blue skin over his eye.

It must have been there before, he just didn’t think it was wrong looking. Gaze flitting down to the vest, the name ‘Buckshot’ was spelled out in blue letters. This was the one he knew. This one held himself in a loose way, easy going rather than uptight. More correct, it seemed to Robbie.

Watching the other one, he tries to read the call sign but doesn’t get a good look. The man stoops over the fire to shift some logs around and add two fresh pieces. Robbie looks hard for the name tag on him.

An angry face is aimed his way for all the staring, and he realizes that they look alike. It clicks into place and he thinks he’s thought this before. He looks from Buckshot, to the mad twin and back again. The purple skin and shallow cut on his eye looks bad. Impulsively, Robbie reaches out and touches over the swollen bruise. Buckshot winces, and he pulls his hand back. The black eye is only hint, aside from the name tags.

As he thinks to look for the name tag, the man stands and gestures wildly around them, moving his body too much for him to read it. He watches as the man argues with Buckshot. The two seem to disagree about the shelter, Buckshot gesturing to the uphill route they just escaped from emphatically.

Eventually, the angry twin kicks apart the rocks circling the fire and shovels dirt over the embers with his hands. He stomps off and glares behind him, toward the path they had come from. His chest puffed out and his hatchet at the ready, giving it a few twirls of the wrist.

‘Is something following?’ Robbie’s paranoia flares. The wind picks up, carrying no hint of rotten smells. He feels himself relax. Drizzling rain begins to mist his face. Turning back, he see’s that one twin has left and the other is waiting for him on bended knee again.

He can’t walk yet. He’s truly depleted. His unsteady gait is a lot of effort to manage but clearly they aren’t staying here. He isn’t sure Buckshot is ready for another go of carrying him like a sack of potatoes, but he won’t argue. Too tired to care, he climbs on, folding his arms around Buckshot’s neck and resting his face on his shoulder.

Their faces are very close. Robbie hangs from him like a blanket, but Buckshot seems to have better control of them like this. His center of gravity is aligned, Robbie can feel it, and they move with near ease this time. As the rain gains density, Robbie despairs. He yawns, tired but still awake and wishing he could grow numb to the pain already. Would this never get any better? Cold seemed to make his head feel worse.

Plodding away, Buckshot places a foot and slides in the mud. Toppling over as one unit, Robbie instinctively tightened to him and felt Buckshot gag under his crossed arms. He let go and slipped fully off of him, landing in mud that smelled foul.

It was scummy with green algae and dense enough to stick to skin and clothes. He slipped three more times trying to stand up, gave up, and scuttled like a crab into the tree-line where the ground was firmer. Buckshot was crawling on all fours after him, covered in the muck. Raindrops made tracks down his face, giving Buckshot a sort of camouflage.

Standing up and facing him, Robbie saw that mud had gotten into Buckshot’s mouth, a clear smear over his lips where he’d wiped it away. The thought was revolting, it smelled of stagnant water.

Walking along together, they follow the GPS marker for the twin. Heavy downpour washed them mostly clean, though Robbie could still very much smell the algae lingering. They come to a cliff edge and find the angry twin staring down. Below dangles one of their own. Alcohol litters the area and Robbie’s stomach turns. He won’t get any closer.

Choosing to sit away from the morbid scene, he sits to rest. The twins spend time over by the body after cutting it down, looting it, then returning to him and talking among each other as he sits uselessly. He thinks to look for the angry guy’s name tag, and spies ‘Octane’ emblazoned in blue on twin number two.

Wearing similar expressions of dour pessimism, the brothers lead the way to a canopied patch of flat ground and set up a campfire. Buckshot motioned for Robbie to sit and take a break. He did, grateful for the tree coverage. Sheets of frigid rain had been seeping down his neck.

The two set to making a debris shelter, just as Octane had made before. It was hard work, and Robbie felt like a child being parked to the side. Wanting to prove to himself that he wasn’t a liability, he set to work collecting driest kindling available. Twenty minutes later and he was piling it up.

Then, using a star method to conserve wood, he built a fire. By this time the brothers had made a base of fronds and undergrowth yanked up from Earth to make the soft ground of their bed, he had a warm blaze that would burn for hours.

Octane then sets to making a spear and showing off like a caveman discovering it, jabbing it at either of them. He spends too much time trying to spear fish with it, kicking up water and making an ass of himself. He clearly has no idea how to actually do it.

Pulling off his gloves, shoes, and socks, Robbie then rolls his pant legs up to his knees. Toughing it out in the icy cold river water, he wades in and around the large boulders submerged. He moves upstream from Octane and Buckshot. Octane was no good at gigging, there wouldn’t be any fish left to catch if the fool kept scaring them away.

Getting close to the underside of rocks, Robbie dips his hands. He checks under three rocks and feels his blood settle up in his forearms. Then he feels it, the flutter of a tail fin against his knuckles.

His finger follows the raised lateral line up along the sides between the pectoral fins. He ran a deft finger along the length of the stomach up and down, then again until he felt the fish list to the side. Grasping it firmly at neck and tail, he hoists it up and out of the depths with a shower of water. He can’t fit his hands all the way around either end, it’s a good sized trout.

He scopes around for any sign that the brothers may have seen, but no luck, no one is watching. Irked, Robbie uses a stone to bash the fish and placed it on the bank nearby. He went back for more. When he catches the fourth trout, he finds both the brothers standing by his collection looking amazed.

He cleans the fish, Buckshot kneeling to share in the task, dumping the guts into the stream. Robbie dried his limbs by the fire before dressing again. Octane took the fish, skewering them on whittled sticks, and set them to lean over the licking flames. The smell was not appealing, very fishy and warm. Buckshot prepped an MRE and shared with Robbie, while Octane wolfed down his own pouch.

He stalled as he took the spork from him, having seen him take a bite and hand off. ‘Guess germs aren’t an issue for him.’ Robbie thought, bewildered. He handed over a few blueberries he’d filled his pockets with. He’d chosen the firm ones for Buckshot, keeping the pocket of smashed ones that he’d landed on to eat himself.

Octane watched over the cooking fish with glaring eyes. They were all huddled close to the fire, cold rain ever present and threatening to douse the flames. Octane moved embers around and added a quarter log then, after what felt like a very long time, took the fish down.

He skinned them with his flame sterilized knife and set to deboning each fillet. It was not an appealing sight, watching the spine get yanked free in a cartoonish pull from head to tail. The prospect of more to eat won out.

They filled themselves on smoky bits of fish as the last of the sunshine touched them. An eye blinding golden ray of light filled the campsite, haloing their identical faces. Robbie watched, thinking something about the golden hour but not remembering what it was for. This must be it though. His gaze stayed on them as the light lost it’s brilliance and sank into purple evening. The two were interesting to watch.

They shared their fish, eating in turns with practiced diplomacy. No wonder Buckshot shared with Robbie so freely, he must have had to share like that all his life. It was second nature for him. Octane seemed more apt to pulling small pranks, but Buckshot gave as good as he got, given an opportunity.

The sky darkened hurriedly until all at once it was a vast empty space around the orange glow of their fire. The misting rain settled, then passed. Yet still the wind blew bitter and cold. Goosebumps prickled over his arms and chest as he felt how very damp all his clothes were. It was difficult to stay dry here, with rain storms ever half hour.

The brothers readied to lie down in the makeshift home and small as it was, the roof overhead was welcome. Octane occupied the left side, avoiding looking at either of them and laying back to back with his brother. Buckshot curled in the middle, hands under his head.

Teeth chattering, Robbie made himself at home crawling right up in Buckshot’s arms. He felt the resistance in the man, but settled in regardless. It was too small a shelter to scoot farther away, and laying as the little spoon would leave his face in the cold. He tucked his nose into the flak vest and waited to stop shivering. Being so cold was misery, feeling awkward was a not concern anymore.

Buckshot was the taller man by quite a bit, which made it comfortable to tuck his head under his chin and hide his face from the world. The heat slowly seeped into him, the sense of fatigue hitting him fully now. He could fall asleep like this.

Buckshot held himself rigid for a few minutes, clearly uneasy. Then, at last, Robbie felt his bedmate loosen up. The shoulders unclenched, a long breath was let out and Robbie sank with the chest. An arm circled him, pulling him close into a more comfortable position. Robbie’s eyes flew open in astonishment, not expecting to be held so intimately.

Now his cold nose was pressing into the warm skin of Buckshot’s neck, their chests and bellies lining up. This was far more familiar a touch than he wanted, but the warm skin on his frozen face felt nice. He stayed there, letting the warmth lull him. The steady rise and fall of the chest beneath him was grounding, and it wasn’t long before sleep took him away.