Fic: All is Violent, All is Bright 5/11
Title: All is Violent, All is Bright 5/11
Author: sparrow_hubris
Team: ANGST
Prompt: innocence
Word count: 2,897 this part
Rating: PG-13 - NC-17 (This part PG-13)
Warnings: Underage 15/17, Apocalypse & general destruction, Violence, Mentions of death, violence towards animals (hunting) prev parts & other warnings as I get to them.
Betas: night_reveals ♥
Summary: Apocalypse AU / a.k.a bb!Survival / a.k.a. cockblockalypse!
Notes: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
___
The next day, Arthur tries not to think about every scenario in which a predator could have attacked Eames when he went off for his morning piss. He tries not to think about Eames somehow getting lost on a walk and wandering in circles, deeper and deeper into the forest where he’d die of exposure when the night gets too cold. Arthur tries not to think of wandering bandits running into him, killing him, and leaving the body in the forest.
The second day after Eames disappears, Arthur doesn’t check the traps. Instead he searches around the camp, walking in a spiral circle out into the forest, praying he won’t find a corpse. He doesn’t. He makes it a few miles out, half a day wandering the woods, and he doesn’t find anything.
The third day after Eames is gone, Arthur decides that Eames simply left. That’s the best explanation Arthur has. It’s the only explanation that doesn’t leave his stomach in knots. Eames just left. Maybe he was tired of Arthur. Maybe he just wanted to fuck with Arthur’s head. Maybe Eames is just a giant asshole.
After searching the camp again, Arthur realizes that Eames’ gun and pack are missing. It confirms it in his mind; Eames is a huge asshole and good riddance. Arthur doesn’t need him and he didn’t even want him around in the first place.
But that’s a lie. It’s been three days and he already misses Eames. He misses the jokes, the stories, and the partnership. He misses the way Eames smiles at him. Arthur had tried for so long to convince himself that he doesn’t need any friends after Greg died. Then Eames had to go and shatter his defenses.
When Arthur goes to bed that night, he shivers from the cold. It’s not even the worst of winter yet. The fire seems like it’s not enough without Eames’ body-heat next to him and he wonders how he’ll make it through. The night seems silent without Eames’ heavy breathing. All Arthur can think about is how alone he feels and how dangerous it can be for Eames to be off on his own. Eames managed to survive before, and now he knows how to hunt and trap, because Arthur taught him, but that doesn’t make Arthur worry any less.
He sighs and wraps the blanket around him tighter. He could go looking for Eames, but he doesn’t even know where to start. Eames had never told him where he was living before. Wandering the city without any kind of lead would be dangerous. Arthur doesn’t know if Eames is really worth the the effort. If Eames left on purpose, how would he react if Arthur just showed up? What was Eames motivation for following him back to his camp before anyway? Friendship? It’s obvious that’s not the case, or else Eames wouldn’t have just left without saying anything.
Arthur tosses and turns all through the night, unable to shut his brain off. The next two days are long and tedious. He checks his traps in the morning, strains his water, and repairs broken supplies. Reading is too and he finds that he has to do something physical to not want to scream from frustration.
In the evening, all he has is his thoughts. Fuck Eames, Arthur thinks, for allowing him to get used to having a companion. He used to be fine spending a entire day alone, doing nothing. But now the monotony of the day is too much without the sound of Eames’ voice. Agitation makes Arthur restless; soon he’s completed every task he can think of, besides hunting for big game or scavenging.
Arthur could go into the city again though. He’s about due for more food and could always use ammo. He decides that’s what he’ll do tomorrow. He’ll go on a supply run, hoping it will make him feel better, hoping that he can forget about Eames. Or maybe, he’ll run into Eames. It’s a long shot, but he can hope. On that thought, Arthur drifts into sleep, still, still alone, but at least he doesn’t wake through the night, thoughts finally calmed with the new goal in sight.
***
The sun is bright in the sky, like it always is with no solid walls, or a roof over his head. It’s early, the crisp morning air not yet warm enough to melt the layer of frost that settles in the early morning hours. It’s the perfect time to wake up; it’s early enough that Arthur will have plenty of time to get to the city and still search houses today, making the trip shorter, but not so early he will be freezing for most of the walk.
Arthur shivers from the cold when he stretches, the blanket falling away from his body. He feels so much better now that he has a plan. Getting over Eames should be easy, so long as he keeps himself occupied. He’ll find more things to do, things that take more time to complete, like building his grill.
Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, Arthur contemplates what he wants for breakfast. Nothing is open and his meat will last, so he can choose anything. It’s always his favorite day when he can pick a new can of food.
“Morning, sunshine!”
Arthur yelps and Eames bursts into a fit of laughter as Arthur tries to calm himself. All of Arthur’s blood is rushing through his veins and after the initial shock, he’s impossibly angry. This is the second time Eames has caught him completely off guard.
“What the fucking-fuck?” Arthur screams, shoving the blankets completely off to scramble to his feet. He rushes towards Eames and grabs a handful of his shirt, shoving him off the crate Eames is perched on. Eames just continues to laugh, raking in loud breaths between his fits.
“All right, all right. Calm down, Arthur,” Eames says, catching his breath. “Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”
“What the fuck are you doing here? Where the fuck were you?” Arthur balls his fists at his sides, resisting the urge to punch Eames to break nose, or to pull him into a hug. The wave of emotion is confusing. In one second he wants to break Eames’ nose, to punish him for making him worry. The next second he wants to wrap his arms around Eames’ waist and never let go. Arthur’s mind keeps looping over the same thoughts. Eames is alive, he thinks gratefully. He’s back.
“Don’t look so worried, Arthur. Everything is fine,” Eames says as he picks himself up off the ground and brushes pine needles from his clothes.
Arthur shoves his hands through his hair, pulling the curls away from his face in frustration and paces back and forth. “I was fucking worried, okay? You can’t … you can’t just disappear like that!”
Eames amusement drops, his expression turning hard. He grabs Arthur’s wrist, to stop him from walking in circles. “Hey, hey. It was just a short trip, nothing to fret over, yeah?”
“You didn’t tell me you were leaving,” Arthur hisses, snapping his wrist from Eames’ grasp. “What was so important that you had to just take off without saying anything?”
Eames gaze falls to the ground, and the muscles of his jaw jump beneath his skin. Arthur turns away and again fights the urge to deck Eames. When he’s calmed enough to look at him again, Eames is giving him the most apologetic look he can muster.
“I’m sorry, mate. I just went to go get some supplies.” Eames is voice is strained. It’s obvious he is laying the olive branch, choosing not to give in to anger.
“Su … ?” Arthur looks around and there are four, new, full bags sitting on the ground by the crate. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped.”
“No offense, but you are one paranoid kid, and if you ever decide to turn on me, I have no doubt you’d take everything I had, and then some, to survive. I figured it was smart to keep where I lived secret, just in case.”
Arthur scowls at the implication that he would turn on Eames. But when he thinks about it more, he has to admit that it’s a smart idea. He probably would take anything he needed from Eames, if he had the chance - if they weren’t friends.
“So why did you come back?” Arthur says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest protectively.
“Your place is nicer,” Eames grins, ignoring Arthur’s tone.
“Yeah, I don’t doubt that. But what am I supposed to do if you turn on me?”
“You’ll just have to trust that I’m a nice guy,” Eames replies. They stand there awkwardly for a few moments, letting the comment hang in the air. Arthur is the first to break the silence.
“So, what did you bring?”
Eames face lights up and he goes to sift through the bags. He pulls out cans of food first, a fair amount for the both of them. Eames continues to pull new items out: a bed-roll, blankets, jackets, clothes, and finally some paints and a large paper pad.
“You paint?” Arthur asks, pulling the pad toward him and flipping it open. The pages are splashed with color, each in a different style. Arthur recognizes impressionism, surrealism, and even baroque, his art history class paying off as he turns through the pages.
“I don’t have any canvasses,” Eames says as he puts some of the supplies away. “So they’re not as good as they should be.”
Arthur flips through more of the work. The paintings are raw, lacking proper precision and time spent on them, but it’s obvious that Eames is talented capturing different styles. Eames continues to unload as Arthur looks through the rest of the paintings and Arthur forgets that he’s angry at Eames at all.
***
They don’t have to go scavenging in the city for a while since Eames came back with food, so they fall back into their routine of checking traps, purifying water, and doing odd tasks, like laundry.
Now that Eames brought his own supplies, they create worlds together; Arthur draws the landscape, cities, houses, and Eames populates the streets and adds color. At first they started with sections of Vancouver that they both remembered, but moved on to fantasy worlds later. All of their paper becomes filled with skyscrapers and castles, men, women, and children. Dragons, tigers and griffins populate the same space as modern geometric houses or Italianate mansions. When they run out of proper paper, they start to decorate the blanks of book pages.
They’ll often draw late into the night, shoulder to shoulder next to the fire. It’s comforting having Eames there close, touching as they talk. Sometimes, they’ll fall asleep that way, right next to each other and wake up huddled close. Arthur tries not to think of what it means to feel so happy to have Eames touch him, or how much he wants it. He tries not to dwell on how comforting it feels to lay awake mornings and feel Eames’ breath on his neck. Because, if he thinks too hard on it, he might ruin it. This is the first time Arthur’s been not miserable in months. It’s the first time he’s actually been happy in a year. It’s the first time, since his dad died, that he feels safe.
When they do go scavenging, they make a point of finding art supplies. If they have room in their pack, they’ll take paint, markers, and pens. It gives them something to do, to bide their time. It’s something for them to talk about, to dream about, to lose themselves in. It’s something to look forward to after a long day of hauling traps or building a stronger shelter. When they scavenge, it becomes second nature for Arthur to think of Eames anytime he finds clothes to share, food to eat, or discoverers something that’s just interesting to see. Arthur loves finding something Eames will enjoy. Sweets always get Eames excited; Arthur found five candy bars on their last trip. Eames made them last for three weeks, savoring little portions after every dinner.
They’re due for another foray into the city, and Arthur keeps it in his mind to find a treat for Eames, if he can that is; they’re not guaranteed to find anything. Most of the city has been picked over pretty well by now. Arthur hopes that in the spring they’ll be able to plant a garden. They’ll need to grow their own food soon, in order to have enough to eat. One of Arthur’s cooking books, from the library, mentions seasonal vegetables, so he can plan what to grow, and when, but Arthur’s never been one for gardening. He hopes he and Eames can make it work. Making a mental note to look for more seeds he also thinks of more they need, like medical supplies. They always need medical supplies. They don’t have any antibiotics and are running low on bandages and antiseptic.
They pack up, rifles in hand, and head out. The journey across the bridge seems much shorter with Eames. The scavenging goes faster. Arthur has taught Eames his method of searching in a grid, to memorize the places they’ve already hit. They continue to use it, though Eames often makes them break out of every once in a while because he has a feeling on this one or that one just looks cool.
They’re wandering off the grid due to one of these feelings when they come across a pharmacy. It’s nearly completely collapsed, but Eames finds a large enough hole that he thinks he can get inside.
“I told you, I had a feeling about this one,” Eames says as he hands Arthur his rifle to hold. “I’m going in.”
Eames hands Arthur his rifle and slips the pack off his shoulders. Prying some boards loose around the blocked entrance, Eames clears the hole to get inside. Arthur chews on his lip nervously but resigns himself to the task of lookout while Eames goes searching for precious medications. The building seems stable enough, the roof is already partially collapsed, but seems to be holding out.
Seeing the grim look on Arthur’s face, Eames tries to reassure him. “You worry too much, Arthur. It’ll be fine, trust me.”
Arthur does. He does trust Eames, now. Arthur has seen Eames wriggle his way in and out of the smallest spaces to search for things. Somehow, Eames manages to make it into spaces that Arthur, who is smaller, can’t find his way through. If anyone can get supplies out of this mess of a building, it’s Eames. So Arthur sighs and Eames turns, makes his way to the small hole and twists his shoulders in an elaborate arch, ducking his head to slip inside. The moment Eames disappears from view, Arthur’s stomach balls up with nervous tension. It’s only been a minute, he’s sure, but it feels already feels like forever.
Arthur sits amongst the rubble, dropping the pack and rifle onto the grown. His toes flex to bounce his leg up and down and he draws his knees to his chest. After a few moments he stands again, brushing his hands through his hair nervously and paces. He wonders if he should go in, tell Eames that they don’t need whatever is in there, even though they do. He kicks a few pebbles away as he spins on his heel, pacing back.
An ominous groan emerges from the rubble. The telltale splintering of wood signifying the collapse of support beams rips through the still air. Arthur can practically feel the shift inside. He can hear the debris falling, loosened particles trickling to the ground. His heart skips a beat, then two. He can’t breathe.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck!” Arthur starts for the entrance, but a section of the roof sags violently, shifting the rest of the structure’s frame. “Eames!” He screams as he stops in his tracks. Hearing no response, he starts forward again.
The entrance has shifted with the rest of the building, closing off the gap to get in. Or out, Arthur thinks. His mouth goes dry at the thought. Eames is trapped.
“Say something? Eames!” He calls again, running his hands along the wall as he stumbles around the building, looking for another way in. “Eames!”
The only answer is the rumbling collapse of the roof. Arthur staggers back from the debris, falling back on his wrists as a thick cloud of dirt filling the air. Coughing from inhaling the dust, Arthur scrambles to his feet. “Eames!” He chokes out, and his eyes are streaming, from the dust, from the terror lurching through his body.
“Eames, Eames, Eames!” He cries out in a panic. He darts through the rubble, listening for signs of life. “No! No! Please, Eames!” Arthur sobs. He falls to his knees throwing bricks and shingles to the side, desperately digging for his friend. All he can picture is Eames crushed beneath, gasping his last breaths of life like Greg did when he fell. All he can see is his friends, Eames, Greg, covered in blood. There’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing he can do to help.
“Eames!” He screams, but no one answers.
Part 6
Author: sparrow_hubris
Team: ANGST
Prompt: innocence
Word count: 2,897 this part
Rating: PG-13 - NC-17 (This part PG-13)
Warnings: Underage 15/17, Apocalypse & general destruction, Violence, Mentions of death, violence towards animals (hunting) prev parts & other warnings as I get to them.
Betas: night_reveals ♥
Summary: Apocalypse AU / a.k.a bb!Survival / a.k.a. cockblockalypse!
Notes: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
___
The next day, Arthur tries not to think about every scenario in which a predator could have attacked Eames when he went off for his morning piss. He tries not to think about Eames somehow getting lost on a walk and wandering in circles, deeper and deeper into the forest where he’d die of exposure when the night gets too cold. Arthur tries not to think of wandering bandits running into him, killing him, and leaving the body in the forest.
The second day after Eames disappears, Arthur doesn’t check the traps. Instead he searches around the camp, walking in a spiral circle out into the forest, praying he won’t find a corpse. He doesn’t. He makes it a few miles out, half a day wandering the woods, and he doesn’t find anything.
The third day after Eames is gone, Arthur decides that Eames simply left. That’s the best explanation Arthur has. It’s the only explanation that doesn’t leave his stomach in knots. Eames just left. Maybe he was tired of Arthur. Maybe he just wanted to fuck with Arthur’s head. Maybe Eames is just a giant asshole.
After searching the camp again, Arthur realizes that Eames’ gun and pack are missing. It confirms it in his mind; Eames is a huge asshole and good riddance. Arthur doesn’t need him and he didn’t even want him around in the first place.
But that’s a lie. It’s been three days and he already misses Eames. He misses the jokes, the stories, and the partnership. He misses the way Eames smiles at him. Arthur had tried for so long to convince himself that he doesn’t need any friends after Greg died. Then Eames had to go and shatter his defenses.
When Arthur goes to bed that night, he shivers from the cold. It’s not even the worst of winter yet. The fire seems like it’s not enough without Eames’ body-heat next to him and he wonders how he’ll make it through. The night seems silent without Eames’ heavy breathing. All Arthur can think about is how alone he feels and how dangerous it can be for Eames to be off on his own. Eames managed to survive before, and now he knows how to hunt and trap, because Arthur taught him, but that doesn’t make Arthur worry any less.
He sighs and wraps the blanket around him tighter. He could go looking for Eames, but he doesn’t even know where to start. Eames had never told him where he was living before. Wandering the city without any kind of lead would be dangerous. Arthur doesn’t know if Eames is really worth the the effort. If Eames left on purpose, how would he react if Arthur just showed up? What was Eames motivation for following him back to his camp before anyway? Friendship? It’s obvious that’s not the case, or else Eames wouldn’t have just left without saying anything.
Arthur tosses and turns all through the night, unable to shut his brain off. The next two days are long and tedious. He checks his traps in the morning, strains his water, and repairs broken supplies. Reading is too and he finds that he has to do something physical to not want to scream from frustration.
In the evening, all he has is his thoughts. Fuck Eames, Arthur thinks, for allowing him to get used to having a companion. He used to be fine spending a entire day alone, doing nothing. But now the monotony of the day is too much without the sound of Eames’ voice. Agitation makes Arthur restless; soon he’s completed every task he can think of, besides hunting for big game or scavenging.
Arthur could go into the city again though. He’s about due for more food and could always use ammo. He decides that’s what he’ll do tomorrow. He’ll go on a supply run, hoping it will make him feel better, hoping that he can forget about Eames. Or maybe, he’ll run into Eames. It’s a long shot, but he can hope. On that thought, Arthur drifts into sleep, still, still alone, but at least he doesn’t wake through the night, thoughts finally calmed with the new goal in sight.
***
The sun is bright in the sky, like it always is with no solid walls, or a roof over his head. It’s early, the crisp morning air not yet warm enough to melt the layer of frost that settles in the early morning hours. It’s the perfect time to wake up; it’s early enough that Arthur will have plenty of time to get to the city and still search houses today, making the trip shorter, but not so early he will be freezing for most of the walk.
Arthur shivers from the cold when he stretches, the blanket falling away from his body. He feels so much better now that he has a plan. Getting over Eames should be easy, so long as he keeps himself occupied. He’ll find more things to do, things that take more time to complete, like building his grill.
Sitting up and rubbing his eyes, Arthur contemplates what he wants for breakfast. Nothing is open and his meat will last, so he can choose anything. It’s always his favorite day when he can pick a new can of food.
“Morning, sunshine!”
Arthur yelps and Eames bursts into a fit of laughter as Arthur tries to calm himself. All of Arthur’s blood is rushing through his veins and after the initial shock, he’s impossibly angry. This is the second time Eames has caught him completely off guard.
“What the fucking-fuck?” Arthur screams, shoving the blankets completely off to scramble to his feet. He rushes towards Eames and grabs a handful of his shirt, shoving him off the crate Eames is perched on. Eames just continues to laugh, raking in loud breaths between his fits.
“All right, all right. Calm down, Arthur,” Eames says, catching his breath. “Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”
“What the fuck are you doing here? Where the fuck were you?” Arthur balls his fists at his sides, resisting the urge to punch Eames to break nose, or to pull him into a hug. The wave of emotion is confusing. In one second he wants to break Eames’ nose, to punish him for making him worry. The next second he wants to wrap his arms around Eames’ waist and never let go. Arthur’s mind keeps looping over the same thoughts. Eames is alive, he thinks gratefully. He’s back.
“Don’t look so worried, Arthur. Everything is fine,” Eames says as he picks himself up off the ground and brushes pine needles from his clothes.
Arthur shoves his hands through his hair, pulling the curls away from his face in frustration and paces back and forth. “I was fucking worried, okay? You can’t … you can’t just disappear like that!”
Eames amusement drops, his expression turning hard. He grabs Arthur’s wrist, to stop him from walking in circles. “Hey, hey. It was just a short trip, nothing to fret over, yeah?”
“You didn’t tell me you were leaving,” Arthur hisses, snapping his wrist from Eames’ grasp. “What was so important that you had to just take off without saying anything?”
Eames gaze falls to the ground, and the muscles of his jaw jump beneath his skin. Arthur turns away and again fights the urge to deck Eames. When he’s calmed enough to look at him again, Eames is giving him the most apologetic look he can muster.
“I’m sorry, mate. I just went to go get some supplies.” Eames is voice is strained. It’s obvious he is laying the olive branch, choosing not to give in to anger.
“Su … ?” Arthur looks around and there are four, new, full bags sitting on the ground by the crate. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped.”
“No offense, but you are one paranoid kid, and if you ever decide to turn on me, I have no doubt you’d take everything I had, and then some, to survive. I figured it was smart to keep where I lived secret, just in case.”
Arthur scowls at the implication that he would turn on Eames. But when he thinks about it more, he has to admit that it’s a smart idea. He probably would take anything he needed from Eames, if he had the chance - if they weren’t friends.
“So why did you come back?” Arthur says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest protectively.
“Your place is nicer,” Eames grins, ignoring Arthur’s tone.
“Yeah, I don’t doubt that. But what am I supposed to do if you turn on me?”
“You’ll just have to trust that I’m a nice guy,” Eames replies. They stand there awkwardly for a few moments, letting the comment hang in the air. Arthur is the first to break the silence.
“So, what did you bring?”
Eames face lights up and he goes to sift through the bags. He pulls out cans of food first, a fair amount for the both of them. Eames continues to pull new items out: a bed-roll, blankets, jackets, clothes, and finally some paints and a large paper pad.
“You paint?” Arthur asks, pulling the pad toward him and flipping it open. The pages are splashed with color, each in a different style. Arthur recognizes impressionism, surrealism, and even baroque, his art history class paying off as he turns through the pages.
“I don’t have any canvasses,” Eames says as he puts some of the supplies away. “So they’re not as good as they should be.”
Arthur flips through more of the work. The paintings are raw, lacking proper precision and time spent on them, but it’s obvious that Eames is talented capturing different styles. Eames continues to unload as Arthur looks through the rest of the paintings and Arthur forgets that he’s angry at Eames at all.
***
They don’t have to go scavenging in the city for a while since Eames came back with food, so they fall back into their routine of checking traps, purifying water, and doing odd tasks, like laundry.
Now that Eames brought his own supplies, they create worlds together; Arthur draws the landscape, cities, houses, and Eames populates the streets and adds color. At first they started with sections of Vancouver that they both remembered, but moved on to fantasy worlds later. All of their paper becomes filled with skyscrapers and castles, men, women, and children. Dragons, tigers and griffins populate the same space as modern geometric houses or Italianate mansions. When they run out of proper paper, they start to decorate the blanks of book pages.
They’ll often draw late into the night, shoulder to shoulder next to the fire. It’s comforting having Eames there close, touching as they talk. Sometimes, they’ll fall asleep that way, right next to each other and wake up huddled close. Arthur tries not to think of what it means to feel so happy to have Eames touch him, or how much he wants it. He tries not to dwell on how comforting it feels to lay awake mornings and feel Eames’ breath on his neck. Because, if he thinks too hard on it, he might ruin it. This is the first time Arthur’s been not miserable in months. It’s the first time he’s actually been happy in a year. It’s the first time, since his dad died, that he feels safe.
When they do go scavenging, they make a point of finding art supplies. If they have room in their pack, they’ll take paint, markers, and pens. It gives them something to do, to bide their time. It’s something for them to talk about, to dream about, to lose themselves in. It’s something to look forward to after a long day of hauling traps or building a stronger shelter. When they scavenge, it becomes second nature for Arthur to think of Eames anytime he finds clothes to share, food to eat, or discoverers something that’s just interesting to see. Arthur loves finding something Eames will enjoy. Sweets always get Eames excited; Arthur found five candy bars on their last trip. Eames made them last for three weeks, savoring little portions after every dinner.
They’re due for another foray into the city, and Arthur keeps it in his mind to find a treat for Eames, if he can that is; they’re not guaranteed to find anything. Most of the city has been picked over pretty well by now. Arthur hopes that in the spring they’ll be able to plant a garden. They’ll need to grow their own food soon, in order to have enough to eat. One of Arthur’s cooking books, from the library, mentions seasonal vegetables, so he can plan what to grow, and when, but Arthur’s never been one for gardening. He hopes he and Eames can make it work. Making a mental note to look for more seeds he also thinks of more they need, like medical supplies. They always need medical supplies. They don’t have any antibiotics and are running low on bandages and antiseptic.
They pack up, rifles in hand, and head out. The journey across the bridge seems much shorter with Eames. The scavenging goes faster. Arthur has taught Eames his method of searching in a grid, to memorize the places they’ve already hit. They continue to use it, though Eames often makes them break out of every once in a while because he has a feeling on this one or that one just looks cool.
They’re wandering off the grid due to one of these feelings when they come across a pharmacy. It’s nearly completely collapsed, but Eames finds a large enough hole that he thinks he can get inside.
“I told you, I had a feeling about this one,” Eames says as he hands Arthur his rifle to hold. “I’m going in.”
Eames hands Arthur his rifle and slips the pack off his shoulders. Prying some boards loose around the blocked entrance, Eames clears the hole to get inside. Arthur chews on his lip nervously but resigns himself to the task of lookout while Eames goes searching for precious medications. The building seems stable enough, the roof is already partially collapsed, but seems to be holding out.
Seeing the grim look on Arthur’s face, Eames tries to reassure him. “You worry too much, Arthur. It’ll be fine, trust me.”
Arthur does. He does trust Eames, now. Arthur has seen Eames wriggle his way in and out of the smallest spaces to search for things. Somehow, Eames manages to make it into spaces that Arthur, who is smaller, can’t find his way through. If anyone can get supplies out of this mess of a building, it’s Eames. So Arthur sighs and Eames turns, makes his way to the small hole and twists his shoulders in an elaborate arch, ducking his head to slip inside. The moment Eames disappears from view, Arthur’s stomach balls up with nervous tension. It’s only been a minute, he’s sure, but it feels already feels like forever.
Arthur sits amongst the rubble, dropping the pack and rifle onto the grown. His toes flex to bounce his leg up and down and he draws his knees to his chest. After a few moments he stands again, brushing his hands through his hair nervously and paces. He wonders if he should go in, tell Eames that they don’t need whatever is in there, even though they do. He kicks a few pebbles away as he spins on his heel, pacing back.
An ominous groan emerges from the rubble. The telltale splintering of wood signifying the collapse of support beams rips through the still air. Arthur can practically feel the shift inside. He can hear the debris falling, loosened particles trickling to the ground. His heart skips a beat, then two. He can’t breathe.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck!” Arthur starts for the entrance, but a section of the roof sags violently, shifting the rest of the structure’s frame. “Eames!” He screams as he stops in his tracks. Hearing no response, he starts forward again.
The entrance has shifted with the rest of the building, closing off the gap to get in. Or out, Arthur thinks. His mouth goes dry at the thought. Eames is trapped.
“Say something? Eames!” He calls again, running his hands along the wall as he stumbles around the building, looking for another way in. “Eames!”
The only answer is the rumbling collapse of the roof. Arthur staggers back from the debris, falling back on his wrists as a thick cloud of dirt filling the air. Coughing from inhaling the dust, Arthur scrambles to his feet. “Eames!” He chokes out, and his eyes are streaming, from the dust, from the terror lurching through his body.
“Eames, Eames, Eames!” He cries out in a panic. He darts through the rubble, listening for signs of life. “No! No! Please, Eames!” Arthur sobs. He falls to his knees throwing bricks and shingles to the side, desperately digging for his friend. All he can picture is Eames crushed beneath, gasping his last breaths of life like Greg did when he fell. All he can see is his friends, Eames, Greg, covered in blood. There’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing he can do to help.
“Eames!” He screams, but no one answers.
Part 6