"Intended or not, we all eventually fall. Say peace and prayers, 'till your lungs fill with dusk's air. Scream! Shout! The end is near; For only the dead have nothing to fear." - Unknown

They made sure to put everything back to where it originally was before they left. But after a few piss-poor attempts of retying the knot that secured the metal hatch, they had flung the ruined piece of rope into some stacks of hay and hoped to God that Nathan wouldn't notice. And Max couldn't help but feel that terrible, overwhelming anxiety that infected her friends. Like a rotten string of the flu, it metastasized in her lungs and made her short of breath, as her throat was choked shut and her stomach rumbled in agony.

She couldn't tell if it was because she'd missed lunch, or because of the idea that she and her friends were likely to be targeted by some deranged, twisted psychopath.

Chloe hadn't said a word the entire time it took them to retreat from the bunker. Not a word as they made it back to the rusted truck, and not a sound as she'd started the engine and gunned it out of dodge. Even now, even as they reached the outskirts of Arkadia South, neither of the smaller girls dared to speak to their driver. It was true that Max feared Chloe would snap if she said something and get them in a car crash, but every time she looked into Price's muddled blue eyes, she could see the swirling miasma of a storm. It was tearing away the long-established foundations, the many memories held within, and Max could almost see these memories being ripped, and torn to shreds.

And how many times, must she watch her friends crumble to nothing before her very eyes?

Chloe took a right off the main street, turning onto Fern Avenue. The quiet road took them past the town's kindergarten, the church, and then the war museum on their left, with rows of houses passing them on their right. Max looked over to Kate, whose gaze was fixed on the passenger window. While she might not give any indication, Max felt it to be true, that Kate was seeing nothing but what they saw down there, in that silent hell. The blonde was still as stone, seeing through hollowed eyes that looked beyond a thousand yards.

They kept going as the road inclined up the mountain slope, it curving left and guiding them onto the Blackwell campus. The truck's brakes slowed them to an ear-splitting halt at the pick-up/drop-off zone in front of the main quad, where Chloe shifted the gear into park with a jerk of the arm.

The birds could be heard as a flock of them soared from the canopy of the nearby pines, billowing in the wind and heading up into the sky, out of their sight.

"Get out."

Max swiveled her head to Chloe, "…wait, what?"

"Get out. Both of you."

Kate needed no more prompting. Max heard the passenger door click open behind her, and the shuffling of shoes on concrete, yet she didn't move. She didn't want to move.

"Chloe—"

"Just—!" angry curls on fair skin marred the punk's face, for she was so ready to tear her head off, to tear anything off, to tear apart. Her world was tearing apart, so why should the rest of the outside be left to spare as everything she loved was ripped to pieces? So it was with this plea, this one last begging of the olive branch as Price slumped, and sunk her head back onto the chair's headrest, "just go, Max. Please go."

A worried frown was all she received.

Chloe glanced over, and growled, "Max, I'm not gonna fucking kill myself, you know I'm not like that."

"That's not what's worrying me."

"Then what, what is it?" wild ice blue eyes side-eyed the mousy brunette.

"You'll do the next worse thing and get yourself hurt over it."

Chloe looked away and bristled, whether at herself or at Max, she would never tell, "Just give me time, give me space. That's all I need, just some space, that's all, Max. I won't go after that fucker, I promise."

Max said nothing, watching the way her hurting friend's fists flexed and unflexed, how her entire being slightly shivered with each shuddering intake, eyes looking and unseeing.

Those tired, trembling ice blue eyes, wide with fright.

Lost.

"…alright."

Max slung the strap of her satchel over her shoulder. Edging to the outer seat, she hopped out of the truck, taking one last pleading look to Chloe before she closed the cab door. Chloe never looked back to her as she sped out and down the street, the truck disappearing down the slope and out of sight.

The brunette and the blonde were the only ones out in the courtyard. They saw no one near the fountain, no one enjoying the shade of the trees, no one was seated at the benches and the outside tables. It was as if the entire population had vanished in the time they'd been gone.

A hollow, empty place.

So Max heaved a sigh, and made for the girls' dorm building, but stopped a few paces in. The lack of a presence by her side made her turn, to see Kate still standing where she'd last gotten out. Marsh was gazing at the sun, as it started blistering into its warming late afternoon routine. A gust of wind rattled the dried leaves across the walkway, likewise swaying the branches and the loose blonde bangs in Kate's poorly kempt bun.

Max took her right hand and tugged, gently.

"Come on, it's cold."

It wasn't that cold, not enough to make them shiver at least. Still did Caulfield coax the girl from her dreamscape, and guide her forward, to the dorms. Kate made no move to yank herself from Max's grip, and followed a step behind the entire way to the corridor, past the gate, into the dorm courtyard. Meandering past a water puddle on the concrete, the two paid no mind to the lone soul beyond the corner of the structure, over by the janitor's office. Ol' Samuel was tending to a squirrel with some small pieces of bread, having apparently finished whatever chore he'd been set out to do. They didn't notice him, and he didn't notice them, and Max pressed forward, pushing the entrance open.

She trudged through the door to the second floor, trying her hardest to keep the bags of assorted chips and snacks from falling out of the delicate crook of her arms. Steadily, she made her way to her dorm room, when a sudden cacophony of laughter from Room 218 nearly made her lose hold of her purchased plunder. She could hear the slurred shouting coming from beyond the confines of the room and it left her feeling the slightest bit irritated. It seems that whoever the hell was in Juliet's room was sure as hell having the time of their lives, whatever the hell let them feel the need to bust out the alcohol at this hour sure as hell didn't give her the swell of happiness she felt she deserved.

The desire to bust open their door and rip them a new one was tempting, but Max wasn't going to let her anger get the better of her. Not now, not when she was needed. Her stomach was aching with anticipation.

So she crossed the length of the hall, past the bathrooms, choosing to ignore the caution tape that lied just out of her peripheral and carefully shuffled to her own comfy abode of Room 219.

Balancing the snacks in the curl of one arm, she reached with a few free fingers for the handle, using her body to push the door open.

"I'm back—" a bag of cool ranch Doritos slipped from its perch and dropped to the floor, "Oh, god—dangit!"

A light chuckle, a bit forced, rung small and weak from the couch, and as Max fumbled for the bag Kate continued to stare, now finding the wall of polaroid shots just above Max's bed to be the most fascinating thing she'd ever had the privilege to witness.

The returning brunette dumped the assortment upon the small table, and went back to close her door and drown out another shrill chorus of laughter from down the hall.

"They seemed riled up," Max exasperated, "I wonder what's got them in such a happy mood."

"It's a balancing act."

Max looked over to the blonde, who sat still, crisscrossed on her couch.

"Kate?"

"It's all a tip of the scale," that withered voice spoke again, "Where we suffer, they rejoice. That's how it is."

Finally, did Marsh bother to look her way. Her eyes, normally a bright, colorful hazel, had morphed into a dulled silver, unblinking. It reminded Max of two days ago, with never-ending tears and shuddering sobs. Of tattered steel helmets and marred, blood-ridden skin draped in a torn uniform. It suddenly brought a sense of panic to her, this kind of silent terror that rots from the inside, like a cancer that cannot be fought by conventional means.

"Sorry, I'm just being a bit of a drama queen," Kate dissuaded, blowing off that sudden swirl of tangible, tremulous turmoil with a wilted cackle.

Max frowned, and said nothing. Kate began fidgeting then, growing nervous.

"Can, uhm…can we just sit and eat?"

Max hated the way Kate shrunk in on herself when asking that, like a child having been awaiting the moment their parents would scorn them, her hands gripping the pillow in her lap, eyes darting everywhere and nowhere, "...sure, Kate."

So she took a seat next to her friend, and dug into a couple of granola bars that she liked. It was a wonderful thing, to take her mind off of the stress and be rid of the hunger pains, so much so that she almost missed how Kate wasn't reaching for any of the snacks on the table. Quickly did Caulfield finish the granola bar in her hand. With an asking look she took the blonde's right hand, silent in its support. Kate didn't mind, or at least made no move to retract.

Marsh hesitated, opening and clamping her mouth shut, yet still Max was patient, for even as the minutes carried on into silence, she waited.

"I…don't know what to feel."

"…what's the...the most prominent thing, that you feel?" Max asked, now looking towards the wall of photos but still listening.

"Fear," said the small voice beside her.

Max glanced back, and saw Kate's eyes glimmer with tears.

"I just feel this…this thing, in my chest. I can't get it out—"

Marsh reached for one of the bags of chips on the table, the spiciest of the bunch: the Flamin' hot Cheetos. With a bit of a shiver in her hands she opened the bag, taking a piece and stuffing it between her taut lips. Anxious breaths became more laxed as Kate laid back on the couch.

"I can't believe he would…that he'd…" it diminished to a whimper, then, with a rough clearing of the throat, "he couldn't have done that to Rachel, could he?"

Max understood, "I'm not sure, Kate. She's been gone for six months, no one's seen her around town. I don't want to think he…that he killed her, but…I don't know."

Another chip. Then a second, and then a third, as the never-ending crunch of chips being torn to pieces by chattering molars ceased to end. The weight in Kate's heart wouldn't leave her be.

'I didn't even know her that much—it was all word of mouth, all the horrid things people said about her. And I never saw her much, besides the posters," another Cheeto pulled from the bag, "I always wondered what she was like. If she was like me. If she was different."

Max had thought about such, too. Chloe had always put in her two-cents of praise for whoever Rachel was, what she did, yet everyone else either hated her or were too indifferent to Amber's plight. Caulfield recalled the scratchings that were adorned on select desks in the classrooms, where some student—maybe more—of unknown origin gave such insightful commentary about whatever Rachel had been rumored to have done, whether it involved her private life or something concerning her alleged physique.

Whatever it meant, it was nothing to the fact that she was missing, likely six feet under. While not an undoubtable certainty, the chances were far too high, there was too much writing on the wall. There was too much splotchy red paint on the drywall, that which dreadfully stuck out in their minds.

No one fucks with me, bitch.

The crunching grew near unbearable, as Kate was taking two, three pieces at a time now. It was indeed a race, to see how many Marsh could stuff into her gut before she hacked them back up in an anxious spew. She was losing herself to her terror.

"I-I still don't remember much—crunch—a-about last weekend. The party. But that, that place," with its lights, its bright white lights that blurred the lines of the black tiles of its ceiling. Another chip into the mouth, the spice that was burning and searing taste buds served as a wonderful distraction to the stinging of the memory, "and the lights, I remember the lights. I thought I was in the hospital—crunch—I remember the voices. They were gentle, soft—crunch—like a doctor's—crunch—so soft, so kind."

A shaky left hand, its end-digits smudged in red spice, brought another piece to savor, even as the flavor grew dull and the pains seemed to mix unto each other, to where she wiped her runny nose with the back of the hand.

Max gave her other a firm squeeze, worried it wasn't enough to ground the spiraling blonde, "Kate, you should slow down—"

Kate did not slow down.

The hand reached into the bag, addicted, for even the dull throbbing of a seared tongue and sore gums was better than that terrifying realization. And it seemed silly then, that she could bury that truth in processed cornstarch and chili pepper, but damn it all if she couldn't just have this one last semblance of control—

"Kate, stop."

She didn't want to stop. She wouldn't stop. She had gone too far and walked into the silent abyss, where even the Devil had cowered in fear, of being heard by the denizen of that dark abode. She could not stop her decent now. Not if she even wanted to.

Already her eyes stung with salty spite, and she could hear nothing but her own breathing, shaky and unstable.

So Kate clung to the addictive pleasures of the Cheetos, that which has kept her calm until now. It didn't matter that the descent to madness was inevitable, what mattered was that she could justly blame it on the chips and not how absolutely, horrifyingly close she had been to—

Max's attempt to seize the precious lifeline to her peril was thwarted as Kate curled on her precious sustenance, snarling. The sniffling blonde shuffled away from her friend, desperate to get away.

"Kate, listen to me, please—!" It was petty, Marsh knew that much, but she could not bother with understanding the complexities of conversation. That time had been tossed away once she agreed to open up her heart. Now, it was the simple things in life that garnered a more appealing sense like the feeling of tearing on spice-scorched gums and being left alone to deal with another breakdown, it was like a dream come true. So she shirked away from Max, backing out of the brunette's worried reach.

Until her foot caught on one of the table's legs, and Kate tripped, the bag flying out of her clutches as she fell.

For some seconds after her head bounced off the rough carpet, Kate laid there, on the floor. She held no strength left in herself—she imagined that this fate that befell her was just, then. And voices were singing in her head, voices not of her own, singing and cackling and smiling with terrible delight. Like Chloe with her sharp tongue, like her mother with her eternal scorn against her, like that rotten old hag of an aunt that hates her for a reason she could not fathom. Even Victoria's promise brought her a feeling of justly-deserved guilt, yet it shouldn't have been necessary to begin with. She can still see the blood that tainted her bunny's alabaster-white fur, she could still see Alice's lifeless little eyes.

You are being a coward.

The voices grew louder, loud enough to drown out whatever Max was saying to her. Kate couldn't see much past the tears, but Max was hovering over her, a blurred shape that was saying something to her, but she couldn't decipher it. Those terrible voices jumbled the audible sounds that rung in her ears and mangled them, distorting them into their own instrument of torture, and she should've known such a thing would come. It was doomed to be, like that which was spoken of the day of judgement, the inevitability of the coming of the Lord and his terrible, swift sword.

You are a coward.

The blur that was Max faded away, and Kate thought that perhaps now, her time had come, that she was being punished for being the impotent child she'd turned out to be the past few days. Not only could she not stand up for herself, she couldn't stand up for her friends, for those she cared for, that cared about her.

You are weak.

These friends and relatives treaded the earth with harsher struggles than what she carried, yet still she couldn't bother to grow a spine or tougher skin. Perhaps God had grown tired of her just like the rest of them, grown so tired of her thinking she was an example of humility only to end up being a haughty, pretentious child, useless in her own defense and likewise in other aspects.

Did she feel justified in being weak, in being a coward, right now, in this very moment, because of how close she had been to assured death?

Stop being a coward, stop being weak.

The world was hazy and spinning. It had to be the Cheetos. Maybe Max was onto something. Perhaps she'd gone overboard with how many she ate. Why wasn't that god-awful feeling in her chest going away? Wait, where the hell was the bag?

Kate tried to discern where the bag had disappeared from where it would've landed, and instead realized that it was on the table, discerned as a red-orange blotch of color amongst other lighter shades, like a watercolor painting.

Oh Lord, she was feeling horrible. Her entire being was burning. Her cranium boiled, having been pressure-cooked from the jumble of thoughts that swirled within. The nerves in her arms and legs were sure to be splayed, and a wave of nausea washed over her and rippled her tightening stomach. It was too stuffy, she needed to get out of this stuffy room and cool off, but she didn't want to move. The minimal effort to keep herself from passing out was getting to be too much. Kate's nose ran in rivulets upon her upper lip, she could only tell because it was cooling on blistering hot skin.

Gentle hands curled around her shaking frame, and brought her to a sitting position, with her back against an arm of the couch. A tissue, pulled from the fabric of nowhere, was placed upon her face, wiping away the tears and then the mucus. An arm looped round her nape, cool and inviting, and Kate was pulled close into another being's embrace. It was only now, did she realize that her muscles were tensed, and a migraine was brewing as she unfurled the tension that had beset her eyebrows.

"It's okay, I'm right here, I'm right here Kate," the voice cooed in her ear, soothing, like that of an angel's.

Kate sobbed.

The sobs bubbled and pushed their way through her clenched throat, that which was inflamed shut and painfully stung every time she swallowed.

Face your fears.

"H-he was gonna—he was gonna get me, Max," Kate choked out, Max's free hand running itself through greasy blonde locks and rubbing gentle circles on her scalp, "he was gonna k-kill me, he was gonna take me when nobody would notice—"

"But he didn't."

The nausea dissipated, but the tears remained.

"But he didn't, and that's what counts," Max repeated, holding the blonde close.

"He'll try it again," Kate sniffled.

"No, he won't. Not if I can help it, not if Chloe and David can help it."

Kate didn't respond. She closed her eyes, suddenly so exhausted.

"That's the thing, Kate; sometimes, all that matters is that we're all alive, and that we're all here," Max whispered, "sometimes, it's all we can do."

"God's grace," bloodshot hazel eyes looked up at the plaster ceiling, as if the Overman himself would descend before them, localized to their plight and no one else. She knew God didn't work like that anymore, but it was a personal comfort, to think that she was special, that her friends would be guarded by the immortal prowess of the Lord.

Her friends. Friends that she cared for, and that cared for her too.

Fresh hot tears trailed down flustered flesh as Kate basked in this feeling of being cared for. Such a swell of emotion rolled over her heart and brought with it an overwhelming desire to love. It was that kind of love that existed in the realm of the platonic, excluded, more so beyond from its more intimate counterpart. This satisfaction that goes beyond what could be understood or described; that feeling of envy she feels at seeing others with such strong bonds. Kate imagines in the wildest depths of her mind the feeling of soldier men she'd seen on television, who never pardon nor condemn their fellow brothers, who hold no doubts towards what they'd sacrifice for one of their own. It was merely the glimpse of such the sacrifice that Christ had suffered, to ensure that some semblance of humanity would live in the Father's divinity.

Loyalty.

Her Honor was called Loyalty.

Be the victor, not the victim.

So Kate gently pulled out of Max's embrace, and looked to those tired blue eyes that shared her sentiment. And such was the mutual understanding between the like-minded, that this unspoken agreement, this pact that their friendship was founded upon. That through the hardships of the world, every strife and sounding of the chime, that they will endure.

Kate clumsily smiled, and Max smiled back.

God bless you, Max.

A muffled buzzing sounded. With a curious glance down and a swift tug, the brunette pulled her switch phone out her pocket, checking for the notification.

"Max?"

"It's Chloe," she replied, but Max was too absorbed in whatever Chloe had sent her to explain further. It seemed that whatever it was, it brought a worrying frown to Max's features, leaving Kate stumped out of her reverie.

The world was calling for them again.

"What'd she say?" Kate asked.

"She's at the junkyard, that's all I can tell," then Max was up and off the floor, reaching for the satchel that was placed on her bedside, "if I had to guess, she wants me—us, to go help her with something."

"…how would we get to the junkyard?"

"That's the thing, I don't know," Max slung the satchel over her shoulder, "I'm guessing we'd have to walk there…those transit busses that pass by will stop at the northern edge of town, at least."

"You should go."

Max stopped fiddling with the zipper on her gray hoodie, "huh?"

"You should go," Kate said, "You mean more to her than I do."

It was meant to placate her friend, yet Kate only made her more concerned, "Are you sure?"

"I'll be alright, Max. Besides, we need to make sure that David knows we didn't just disappear, I'm going to head over to Chloe's house before curfew."

Max seemed rushed, so she quickly nodded and flicked her thumbs on the phone's little keyboard, blitzing a text to Chloe and moving for the door.

"If you insist," Max opened the door, stopping at the frame and looking back to Kate, "be safe, okay? We should be back soon, so text me if you need anything."

"You too, Max," Marsh promised, "I'll meet you back at Chloe's house."

One last look around her room preceded Max as she closed the door, leaving Kate to sit content, with all the snacks she could eat as of now. She eyed the bag of Cheetos distastefully, settling on a spare granola bar right beside it.

Her iPhone's ringer sounded from the depths of her purse. She had an incoming call.

The sky grew evermore dim, slowly, as surely as the sun treaded the last of its time in the expanse above.

And with a huff, Max expelled the exhaustion she was feeling at the sight of the rusted truck, parked just outside the perimeter of the junkyard. Easing to a walking pace, she pinched the hem of her shirt collar and vented the heat trapped within. Regret over not taking off her now scratchy hoodie sooner plagued her mind and scratched at her arms, the gritty cotton rubbing against sensitive skin.

So much for comfort.

She shrugs the grey hoodie off, and slings it over a shoulder, treading towards the truck. It's engine was silent, and no one was present in the cabin. A lone black leather jacket lay in the passenger's seat. Max moved onwards, trodding to the entrance of the yard, and halted.

Holes.

Everywhere, lining the walkways and sometimes impeding the paths, were freshly dug holes, at least a foot deep and puncturing the earth like inverted cones. Max carefully stepped further in, slowly, each step placed with precision and with her head on a swivel. This had to be Chloe's doing.

Right?

Max didn't know for sure, and slowly pushed on, keeping from tripping on the upturned ground.

The smell of damp earth flared with intensity as she pressed on, past the first few rusted, burned out husks of cars, to the fork in the path, one way leading onward to the concrete hideout and the other leading left, to where they had encountered Frank before.

There was a path untraveled, even father to the left flank, to an unexplored corner of the yard, past the dilapidated school bus, past the upturned shell of a fishing boat. There came the shunk of a shovel against the dirt, a heaving, a pause, and then a shunk once again. Max edged closer, stepping through the hopscotch of holes.

"Chloe?"

Price turned her head, enough to look through her dull-blue bangs and no more. In her hands, clutched still with dried dirty fingers, was a shovel. She tossed the dirt still carried on the spade, and slammed the blade into the earth again, standing up. Sweat glistened on bare, slightly burned pale skin, as the white tank-top clung to the curve of Chloe's shoulders.

"Chloe, how long have you been out here?"

"Not long enough," she eventually replied, stepping off and reaching into a mound of debris. With a bit of a tug, she pulled another shovel, it's wooden body rotted in some places and the metal a tarnished hue of brown, "Didn't find this guy 'till like, five minutes ago, so that's got me feeling pretty wondrous right about now."

The shovel, from the photo.

Chloe got right back to what she was working on: another hole, another attempt, one of many. Max noted that the hole Chloe dug was larger, deeper, bigger than the ones leading up to the clearing. For Chloe had not a care in the world for anything else, not for the dirt that marred the lower hem of jeans and that caked her boots.

Chloe suddenly stopped shoveling, and looked over her shoulder, "Well, the hell are you waiting for?"

Jerked from her thoughts, Max unslung her satchel, setting it on the ground nearby along with her hurriedly folded grey hoodie. She walked up to Price, still toiling to her labor. Her pace had been slow, but it was methodical, like a machine running on fumes and the unwavering, boiling bundle of hurt that lied within.

"The bathroom."

Chloe paused again, confused, "What about the bathroom?"

"You didn't just go in there to talk to Nathan, didn't you?" It was jarring that the mousy brunette had let this slip her mind, even with her track record of being forgetful.

Chloe didn't bother gracing her with an answer, rather did she glare. For a few seconds, she glared.

"Help me dig," she finally said, then she reached over and tossed the old shovel at Max's feet, saying nothing more.

"Chloe, what were you even doing in there? What were you two even talking about?"

"None of your fucking business, that's what."

Max frowned.

"Nathan was giving you money for some reason."

Chloe's shoveling grew more brash, slicing into the earth.

"He was threatening you," Max postulated, recalling what happened.

"I asked you to help me," the punk snipped, "not tell me something I already know."

"But I don't know, I want to know, I need to know."

"It's a waste of time."

Max frowned, "You being threatened by the same guy who kidnapped Rachel is not a waste of time."

"It doesn't fucking matter, Max," Chloe was done with the hole, so she pulled herself from the shallow depth and lined her shovel vertical to an untouched patch of ground, "what matters is that we make sure she's alive—" she slammed her boot down at the last word, burying the spade into the dirt.

"You're alive, too. Yet you're telling me you don't matter."

"What do you want me to say, Max?" Chloe pleaded, planting the shovel into the first marking of the hole, "What is it I gotta say for you to drop this?"

"Tell me why you met up with him."

"Why do you need to know?! It's not like it's gonna fucking help us!" Chloe shouted, angry. She rounded on Max and stared down from her full height.

"It's not meant to help us. It's to keep it from hurting us, like it's hurting you."

"I ain't fucking broken, Max," Chloe hissed, "it's bad enough having David-fucking-Douchnozzle telling me that, but now you wanna call me that too?"

"I'm not trying to be an asshole, I just want to help—"

"You can help by taking a shovel and helping me dig!" and Chloe shoves the rotting tool into Max's hands, stomping back to her own and adamant on carving another hole.

"Dig for what? For Rachel, for you?" Max countered.

"For something!"

Max shakes her head, and drops the shovel, "You've been out here for hours digging for something you're not even sure about."

Chloe struck the earth with a growl, flinging earth in a frantic flail.

"Chloe, please, just tell me."

She kept digging.

"Chloe, stop."

Price pushed harder, faster, wishing she could tear the unyielding swath of ground with her bare hands. Max had approached her, cautiously, avoiding the violent swings of the punk's lanky arms and specs of flying dirt. Compelled, Max latched herself to Chloe, wrapping her arms around the girl's torso, tugging with all her might.

"Chloe, stop—!"

Shhin—thuNK

Whatever the metal spade had hit, it had hit pretty hard, for a tremor ran up Chloe's arms from the sudden friction. And lifting the dirt from its place, they leaned in, eyeing the discoloration.

Then the smell hit them.

That foul, acrid smell of overbearing rot pierced their nostrils and sent them recoiling, and the shovel clattered to the ground as they tucked their arms up to block the stench, "Oh, fucking Christ—!"

After coughing out the odor, they edged towards its source, and amidst the churned earth they spotted something unnatural. A sort of off-white streak, almost shining compared to the darkened dirt surrounding it.

Bone.

They were looking at the narrow length of a bone.

Max watched as Chloe collapsed to the ground, as there was no strength left in her to continue standing. Uncaring, the bluenette dug around the offending pale streak, clumps of moist earth clinging to dirt-covered hands. She was coughing, and sobbing so desperately, but she just wanted to make sure—

Max hooked her arms under Chloe by the armpits, but the only thing impeding her from yanking Price away was how much dead weight the girl was. Max pulled her close, nevertheless.

Price had gotten far for what it was worth, and now there was a clear shape to the rotting mass. The dirt surrounding the decay was caked on like another layer of skin, tainted darker with what could only be blood and rotted tissue. If Max looked close enough, she could see a slight piece of flannel cloth sticking out, discolored and tattered, barely holding together.

It seemed then that Chloe noticed it as well, for she hung limp in Max's grip, lost to tears.

"Rach'l—" Chloe choked out, it was the only word she could sound beyond pitiful sobs. Max held onto her as the bluenette seized up, curling.

Neither heard the slight shuffle of footsteps.

A sudden stinging pain erupted on the back of Max's neck, and she instinctually reached a hand to her nape with a jolt, "What the…hell—?"

The world lost its rigidity and spun, and a feeling of terrible vertigo fell upon Caulfield as she slumped on her side. The world was vertical: the ground harshly cradled her left, the expanse of the sky domineered her right.

She thinks someone was calling out her name, but her hearing grew muffled, dimming just as quickly as her vision. Fighting the drowsiness, she tried to hoist herself up, getting as far as laying on her back before her muscles betrayed her.

A lone figure stared down at her. The last, dying rays of sunlight glared off of their sharp spectacles, obscuring their face with blinding light.

Max saw nothing more.

A/N - Even in the depths of your misery, should you never, under any circumstance, let yourself believe that you are weak, or cowardly, or doomed. For he who truly believes he is dead, has either accepted his fate, or has resigned himself to a fate he never wished for. Be the victor, never the victim.