"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 was before they left. 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 Prescott or whoever it was that frequented this place 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 left 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 thing the entire time it took to retreat from the bunker. Not a word was spoken as they made it back to the rusted truck, not a sound was made as Price started the engine and gunned it out of dodge. Even now, as they reached the outskirts of Arkadia South, neither the blonde nor the brunette dared to speak to their driver. It was true that Max feared Chloe would snap, but every time she looked into those muddled blue eyes, she could see the swirling miasma of a storm. Her friend was right there, within Max's reach, but the brunette couldn't reach out to her. The fear 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, the road then 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 Max's 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 ain't 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 killed over it."
Chloe looked away and bristled, "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 friend's fists flexed and unflexed, how Chloe shivered there in her seat, trying to keep calm, eyes looking but not seeing.
Those tired, trembling ice blue eyes, wide with fright.
"…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.
Max sighed 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, swaying the branches and the loose blonde bangs in Kate's poorly kempt bun.
Max took her right hand, and gently tugged.
"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 pull 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 murky-white 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 dorm entrance open.
Caulfield trudged through the threshold of the second floor, the bags of assorted chips and snacks nearly falling out of the delicate crook in her arm. Steadily she made her way to her dorm room, whereupon a sudden cacophony of laughter from Room 218 nearly made her lose hold of her purchased goods. 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, a wonderful jubilee! Whatever the hell let them feel the need to bust out the alcohol at this hour sure as hell didn't give her the sense of jubilation she felt she deserved.
It was true; 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 already aching with anticipation.
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 carefully, she turned the handle and eased her way inside.
"Right, I'm back—" a bag of cool ranch Doritos slipped from its perch and dropped to the floor, "Oh, god—dangit!"
A light, hollow chuckle rung weakly from the couch. Though Max fumbled for the lost bag of chips, Kate continued to stare from her spot upon the upholstery. Indeed, the wall of polaroid shots just above Max's bed was more fascinating to look at. It was bright, and warm, and colorful.
The returning brunette dumped the assortment upon the small table and went back to close her door, eager to drown out another obnoxious 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 sat crisscrossed on her couch.
"Kate?"
"It's all a tip of the scale," that withered voice spoke again, "Where we suffer, they rejoice. To and Fro. That's how it is."
Finally, did she look Max's way. Her eyes, normally a bright and colorful hazel, had morphed into a dulled silver hue. Those eyes of hers were cold and unblinking, and it reminded Max of two days ago, with the never-ending tears and the shuddering sobs. Reality gave way to imagination, and Max was reminded more of tattered steel helmets and marred, bloody skin draped in a torn uniform. It suddenly brought a sense of panic to Caulfield, this silent terror that rots from the inside, like a cancer that cannot be fought by conventional means. Like with Chloe, she could see the way such vicious tirades were tearing apart the blonde sitting there, so silently crying out—
"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 didn't like the way Kate shrunk in on herself when asking that, as though a child awaiting the moment their parents would scorn them. Kate's hands were gripping the pillow in her lap, eyes darting everywhere and nowhere.
"...sure, Kate."
So Max 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 noticed 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, subtle in its support. Kate didn't mind, or at least made no move to retract.
The blonde hesitated, opening and clamping her mouth shut, yet still Max waited patiently, even as the minutes carried on.
"I…don't know what to feel."
"…well, 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 suddenly reached for one of the bags of chips on the table, the spiciest of the bunch: some hot chips. With a bit of a shiver in her hands she opened the bag, taking a piece and stuffing it between her taut lips. Anxiousness was substituted with physical discomofrt as Kate laid back on the couch.
"I can't believe he would…that he'd…" it diminished to a whisper, then, with a clearing of the throat, "h-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, 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," the chips were coated with red spice, and this spice stained the tips of Kate's fingers as she pulled them 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—probably many—gave their 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 in Caulfield's ears, since Kate was taking two, three pieces at a time now. It was very much a race to see how many chips Marsh could stuff into her gut before she hacked them back up in an anxious spew. It was plain as day to Max sitting across from her, that her friend was losing herself to the dread.
"I-I still don't remember much about last weekend. The party. But that—that place," another chip into the mouth, the spice that was burning the gums 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—I remember the voices. They were gentle, soft—like a doctor's—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 hand a firm squeeze, worried it wasn't enough to ground the spiraling blonde, "Kate, maybe you should slow down—"
Kate did not slow down.
The trembling limb 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 even if she 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 hot chips, the self-infliction of pain which has kept her calm until now. It didn't matter that the descent to madness was inevitable, what mattered was that she could excuse it on the chips and not how absolutely, horrifyingly close she had been to—
It is not Death you fear, but the realization of having not lived until your time has run out.
Max's attempt to seize the precious hot chips was thwarted as Kate curled on her precious sustenance, snarling. The sniffling blonde shuffled away from her friend, desperate for some space.
"Kate, listen to me, please—!"
It was petty, Marsh knew that much, but she could not bother with understanding such 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 more interest, like the empty feeling itching away in her heart, like the tearing on spice-scorched gums and how her ribcage rattled with every shuddering breath. She shirked quickly 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 of chips flying out of her clutches as she fell.
For some seconds after her head bounced off the rough carpet, Kate laid still on the floor. She held no strength left in herself—she imagined that this turmoil that befell her was deserved. 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, like that rotten old hag of an aunt that hates her for a reason that was not just. Victoria's dreadful promise shaped into a feeling of justly deserved guilt, but it hadn't been necessary to begin with. She could still see the blood that tainted her bunny's alabaster-white fur, she could still see Alice's lifeless little eyes.
You are 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, she was truly alone. Max had left her there, laid bare to divine judgement, and now she was to be punished for being the impotent fool she'd turned out to be for the past few days. Not only could she not stand up for herself, but she also 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 become tired of her just like the rest of her loved ones, 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. How swiftly was she humbled, down there in that silent hell.
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? Had the touch of Death's hand shocked her so completely, had drained all hope of seeing the rising sun of tomorrow so assuredly, that she could think of no other future than nothingness without end?
Stop being a coward, stop being weak.
The world was hazy and spinning. It had to be the chips. Perhaps she'd gone overboard with how many she ate. Why wasn't that god-awful feeling in her chest going away? Oh, where on God's green earth was the bag?
Kate tried to discern where the precious commodity 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 felt like they were 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 around 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.
These sobs 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 kill 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. I'd have been dead and gone, if he'd taken me—!"
"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, "He'll go after all of us, one by one—"
"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 Father 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.
Hot tears trailed down the flesh of her cheeks, 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 eternal grace.
The vow has been recorded. The banner has been unfurled. Kate's hand is brought to her heart, now teeming to the brim with rebounded truth, and the pledge is complete.
Her Honor was called Loyalty.
The loyalty to self and to loved ones triumphs over all. Be the victor, not the victim.
So, Kate gently pulled out of Max's embrace and looked to those tired blue eyes that shared this sentiment. A glimpse back into the late afternoon of that August day, months ago gleamed there, somewhere between them. Whatever their past selves believed to come true, it could not approach the honesty here in this present moment. There was no longer any doubt, no hesitation on either's part. Such was the mutual understanding between them, 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 nodded, smiling back.
God bless you, Max.
A muffled buzzing sounded. With a curious glance down and a swift tug the mousy brunette pulled her switch phone out her pocket, checking for the notification.
"...what is it, Max?"
"It's Chloe," she replied, but Max was too absorbed in whatever Chloe had sent 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?" Marsh asked cautiously.
"She's at the junkyard, that's all I can tell," then Max was up and off the floor, reaching for her messenger bag 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 bag 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 light gray hoodie, "huh?"
"You should go," Kate said, "You mean a lot more to her than I do."
It was meant to placate her friend, yet Kate's words 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'll be heading back there as well, so text me if you need anything."
"You too, Max," Marsh promised, smiling assuredly, "I'll see you soon."
One last glance around her room preceded Max as she closed the door, leaving Kate to sit in solitude, now with all the snacks she could eat as of now. She eyed the bag of hot chips 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 slowly grew dim, 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. The fabric scratched at her arms, the gritty cotton rubbing against sensitive skin.
So much for comfort. At least you're not cold anymore.
She shrugged the grey hoodie off and slung it over a shoulder, treading towards the truck. Its 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, trotting 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? No one else would be here, right?
Max didn't know for sure, and slowly pushed on, vigilant about tripping on the upturned ground.
The smell of damp earth flared with potency as she pressed on past the first few rusted, burnt out husks of cars, then to the fork in the path, with one way leading onward to the concrete hideout and the other leading left, to where they had encountered Frank before.
But there was another path untraveled, even father to the left flank, to an unexplored corner of the yard past the dilapidated school bus and 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. In her hands, clutched with 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, its 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 countless many. Max noted that the hole Chloe dug was larger, deeper than the ones leading up to the clearing. The punk was not bothered by the labor, she had not a care in the world for anything else; not even 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 the earth. 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 topic slip her mind, even with her track record of being forgetful.
Chloe didn't bother giving her 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, why were you there, in the bathroom with Prescott? 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 again, "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 do 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," Max defended, "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 and 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 her 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. Knowing it to be futile, Max pulled her close instead.
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, "Agh—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.
Someone was calling out her name, but her hearing became muffled, dimming just as quickly as her vision. Fighting the sudden 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.