Chapter Two: Sparks
"Sam?" My eyes fluttered open at Lara's whispery voice. I froze, breathing stopped, eyes wide-and watched her lips quiver with voice; with cold. It took me a moment to acknowledge our closeness. I remained rigid-sitting up.
"Hey, Lara." I smiled, too fearful of the gloom to let the mood drop any further. "How're you feeling?"
"Terrible." She breathed. Her eyes opened briefly: a flicker of dark irises drinking in the room. "Sam, are you alright?"
Again, I couldn't force myself to look past her jawline. Her worry for me was unwarranted, successfully multiplying my guilt. I watched her eyes slip closed, a sigh escaping her lips. I still felt inclined to hide myself-Something besides hunger was gnawing at my senses.
"I'm just cold." I said and laughed humorlessly. It was more of an irked spurt of air hissing between my slightly parted lips. Clutching my knee to my chest, I was once again reminded of how my damp clothing stuck to my skin, my hair to my face. Scratching the back of my head, I could feel many grains of sand against my scalp. A shiver of internal itchiness ran through me.
Lara's lips parted for speech, moving quickly, without sound. Getting to my knees, I leaned down into her, bits of my dark hair grazing her exposed chest. Her warmth was apparent-again, in closeness, present-her tiny breaths hissed against my ear.
"My flint, Sam-left pocket…" I pulled my head away from her. Lara's eyes were open-bright in the dark. I scooted down alongside Lara, noting with more detail the amount and severity of her wounds. The fact that she'd been through so much, likely on my behalf, was one I despised. I shook the thought from my head.
Lara's pants were a mess of dirt, blood, and khaki tied over with the occasional bloodied rag or bandage. I slipped my hand into her pocket, making sure, somewhat irrationally, to do so gently. One wound on her opposite leg seemed particularly severe: a sizeable burn on her upper thigh. I cringed at the many thoughts of its origin, and was inundated with an increasingly sinking feeling.
"Is this it?" I held up a small, oddly tapered, gray stick for her to see. With no negative answer, I let my fist close grimly around the thing.
It was now our life source.
The task of finding dry wood was by no means an easy one. I was able to find some thin pieces of plywood from the top of the pile that were only a bit damp, and a small, bent bit of scrap metal to strike the flint-but nothing more promising. With the materials under my arm, I made my way back to Lara-nearly making the mistake of setting it on the wet ground. I cursed under my breath and retreated back to the pile, scanning over it.
Something odd glinted in the half light. Gingerly setting down my precious wood, I stepped into the rubble and felt it shift beneath me. With only one foot on the ground, I balanced awkwardly, waiting a moment before taking a few more hasty steps to get to it. It was a blade: oddly hooked, it reminded me of a tiny scythe. My hands closed around a handle that seemed crooked, and I yanked the thing free. The interior crook of the blade was serrated, with an odd extension coming off the back of it. I couldn't fathom what such a weirdly shaped blade could be used for, but It seemed highly specialized. No matter-any blade would be of use.
Realizing I could use this as a striker, I tossed away the previous piece of metal, selecting a larger, broader one to use for the fire. I stacked it on top of some two by fours, setting the plywood in what seemed to me a good position for a fire. Looking at it pensively for a moment, I brought the flint to the blade, striking it.
...nothing.
I tried again, cursed, and a third time, as hard as I could. A shower of bright sparks were born from the blade, the scene briefly lit up. I saw Laura's eyes turn to the source of light. I smiled at her, overcome with a new sense of capability.
We'd be okay.
I set the flint at the surface of the plywood and tightened my grip.
Upon striking the blade hard across it, another myriad of sparks were freed to seek death at the wet ground, and a small wisp of smoke spread the tang of struck matches over the immediate area. I tried again with the same result-all the children of fire without the flame: smoke, light, sparks, heat.
Of course the wood was too thick to light.
"God fucking damnit!" I yelled in frustration. It took all of my restraint to stop myself from kicking the failed fire across the room. I threw the odd blade, which got stuck in the sand somewhere ahead of me.
The silence was swathed in dripping water. It was all I could hear. The action of throwing had re-opened the wound on my palm, which now ran dark with half dried blood. I shut my eyes tight in the attempt of relieving tension built up about my lashes and waterline, inhaling deeply. The movement left involuntary wetness at the corners of my eyes.
"Sam." I turned to Lara, her eyes were on me again. I could barely see her in the lack of light, but the slight highlight on the contour of her cheek was enough to tell me she had turned her head in my direction.
"Sam, do you have anything with you?" She repeated. I perked up, feeling my pockets for anything. I slipped a small, cylindrical object from my back pocket.
"Lip-balm." I replied dismally. "Matthias took everything else I had before he tried to fucking burn me." I scoffed.
"See if the label says anything about petroleum." Lara suggested meekly. The pain in her face was undeniable, and I found myself once again looking away.
I turned my eyes to the label and turned the small thing within my hands, aware of the dull throbbing in my palm. In the darkness, it was nearly impossible to see-but I was able to convince myself the word was there.
"Lara Croft, you are a genius." I said to her with half feigned excitement, looking around for something to apply the product to. The front of my shirt wasn't as soaked as the rest; stupidly, I tried to rip it with my hands, but ended up only stretching the fabric slightly.
Standing, I began to make my way through the blue darkness toward the glint of the blade. I cursed myself for being so careless and impulsive as I bent down to grab the handle, pulling it easily from the sand. It hadn't been a hard throw.
I knelt beside Lara, half facing her, half facing the awkward configuration of plywood, a strip of my shirt in my hand. Applying the lip-balm to it I nestled it in between the scraps of wood. The fabric lit after a few strikes of the flint.
Golden light was cast on Lara's face. It was a fickle brand of light-dithering in disposition-playing the curves of her upper body, filling the dips in her figure with blue shadows that writhed with her breath. It made her skin look brassy, as if she were some old statue; an insentient relic.
I fancied the thought of such permanence.
I wouldn't make it alone.
We shared what seemed a comfortable silence for a moment. I was wound tightly, however externally placid, with fleeting thoughts of the future. Those notions became eclipsed by half unwelcome thoughts of Lara.
Why, in the recent past, had I been so comfortable around her, so inclined toward physical contact-when now I shied away as if she were some forbidden fruit? The simple thought of holding hands or brushing arms became taboo, taking on a different connotation. One that scared me more than it should have. Of course I longed for the comfort of touch, especially at a time like this-but I feared it too much to pursue it.
Why did I fear something so trivial?
Because it wasn't trivial. I knew that-but persisted in denying. The human power turn a self-blinded eye to fact was fascinating-and I would've saved myself a lot of trouble if I'd listened to my conscience defining what I felt.
I didn't name the feeling.
Naming it would make it real.
"Sam?" Lara's voice broke my thought.
"Yeah Lara?" I turned my eyes to her and tried too hard to make myself look indifferent, only to find her face close to sleep.
"Mathias-he didn't...do anything to you, did he?"
"No." I lied simply, knowing full well what she meant. I pulled my knees to my chest.
"Good. I don't need another reason to kill that bastard." Lara said weakly. She let out a breathy laugh that spiraled into coughing, rousing the young fire. My eyes went wide with sympathy; I set my hands on her shoulders to steady her, middle fingers brushing her collar bone. The delicate sensation made me shiver.
"Lara-I'm gonna take a look at your side, alright?" I said, beginning to work at the cord holding my jacket in place against her, "Tell me if it hurts." Kicking myself, I realized only after the fact how stupid that sounded.
Lara flinched as I removed the cloth; I looked over the area with distaste. She seemed to sense my worry, my unease-and responded appropriately. She knew she had no justification in assuring that the best possible outcome would be the actual outcome. But I wouldn't have minded hearing it-especially from someone other than myself. Especially from Lara.
"Sam?" Her eyes flickered over my hands for a moment-I let the jacket drop into my grasp and set it behind me, mindful of the blood. Lara's breathing hitched subtly and I knew she was too kind to show me any more of her fear. Another strip of my shirt was used to clear away some of the blood. I pressed the area gingerly, prompting Lara to wince; vent air through her teeth.
"You okay?" I asked in response, keeping my eyes set just past my work. The wound was smaller and shallower than I'd thought-oozing dark blood into the water. My hands were shaking. I closed my pointer and thumb around a large splinter, reluctant to tighten my grasp. I closed my eyes.
Yanked.
Lara cried out slightly as I flung the piece of wood from my grasp-I wouldn't hold it.
"Sam, I-"
"Shh-It's alright. It will be over soon. I promise, Okay?"
"Sam-" Another splinter gone. Lara's reaction was less pronounced.
"Lara, I gotta do this-" I moved my hand near hers to offer useless solace. She flicked her wrist dismissively and set her hand back down in the water. Ripples-five rings, one for each fingertip-spread across the surface, rims glowing with firelight as they crossed and distorted. That single movement hurt more than the gash on my palm. Than the fall.
"We're not leaving this island, Sam. We can't; we're not allowed." My hands stopped moving.
"...What?" I asked, understanding her perfectly. Her eyes were hard on me.
I didn't have to look to know.
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