8 – CHAPTER EIGHT – 1.296^8

Don snapped his eyes open and stood on his feet. Indeed, there, near the wall, a little fire was cracking. It must have ignited when Charlie had once more furiously crossed out his calculations. The sparks created by the fierce rubbing of stone on stone must have leaped over to the straw. And now his little brother was standing at the wall, motionless, staring steadfastly at the flames feeding on the straw.

"Charlie! What the hell are you doing?" Don shouted, hurriedly going for stamping out the fire with his feet.

Fortunately, the flame was still small. Within one minute, the last spark had been extinguished.

After Don had stamped out the fire, he looked at his brother; Charlie hadn't moved an inch. He was still looking into nothing, past his brother, where such a short time ago the flames had been licking. Don was getting uneasy. "Charlie? Hey, you alright?"

Charlie didn't react, though. What the hell was up with him? Was he in shock or something? Don tried again; this time he cautiously shook his brother's shoulder. "Charlie?" His voice suddenly sounded foreign in his ears, and it took him a moment to identify this foreign substance: fear. Then he couldn't stand it anymore; with both of his hands he grabbed Charlie's upper arms tightly. "Charlie, what's the matter with you? Say something!"

And then – finally! – Charlie's eyes cleared and he looked directly in Don's eyes. "I've got an idea."

He spoke calmly as if he hadn't just been shaken and shouted at by his brother. Or ignored a fire.

"An idea?" Don suppressed the feeling of hope. He still wasn't sure if his little brother hadn't really lost his mind. "What idea?"

"Yeah," Charlie nodded slowly, as if he wanted to verify his theory once more in his mad - or not - mind. "Yeah, it should work."

And without further ado, he once again grabbed the stone from the floor and started anew with his calculations his face glowing. His hands trembled with eagerness and he appeared to be deaf to his brother's pestering questions ("What should work? What's your plan, Charlie? What was that just now?").

Don eventually gave up, shook his head uncomprehendingly, and resignedly sat leaning against the side wall on the floor. No, he'd probably never understand how Charlie's mind worked. An idea… what sort of idea might it be? How they should negotiate with their kidnappers? How they could make contact with the outside world? Or maybe even how they could get out of here? Maybe an idea on how they could build that pulley?

Again, Don felt hunger and thirst surging up inside him. How long had it been since he'd last eaten something? No point trying to figure out the number of hours. Anyway, his thirst was by far the more agonizing. Don wondered how long a human being might survive without nourishment and fluidity. He remembered the 'three threes', three minutes without air, three days without water and three weeks without food. In his current situation, however, that wasn't an answer he liked to hear, so he was just about to ask Charlie if he could really rely on these facts and had already opened his mouth when he hastily dismissed it. For one, he had resolved not to interrupt him. And for two, he didn't believe that he was in the right mood to listen to further death statistics.

Don sighed. He hated being unable to do anything. His curiosity was rising with every minute and changing into eagerness. He knew, though, that it'd be useless to pepper Charlie with questions now. He'd only interrupt his train of thinking and that was the last thing he wanted.

"Okay."

Don jumped up as if he'd waited for this sign his entire life. Charlie seemed to be finished. He, too, seemed excited. "So?" Don asked when Charlie didn't make the least effort to explain it to him. He'd stood back from the wall and was looking at his calculations.

Charlie turned towards him. His cheeks were glowing. "I think I've found a way that'll lead us out of here."

Don thought he couldn't trust his ears. They were really going to get out of here? Without help from the outside? How on Earth was Charlie going to make that?

His question seemed to be written on his face. "Listen, I know that it can work –"

"Wait – it can work?" Don became suspicious. Charlie usually phrased his thoughts rather precisely. And when he presented a result, then there was usually very little doubt. "What do you mean, 'it can work'? What are the odds that something will go wrong?"

"I didn't have the time to figure that out, but we haven't really got a choice, anyway."

It was clear to Don that Charlie was trying to wriggle out. However, he considered it better to stop questioning at least for the moment, and to let Charlie explain first. "So, what's your plan? Are we gonna build a pulley?"

"No, you can forget that; it won't work. Now listen: we have got a chance of getting out of here." When he saw Don's skeptic features, he added, "A realistic chance. But for that, you have to trust me."

Trust. He had to trust Charlie.

That was something Don didn't like to hear at all. By no means at all. It wasn't quite easy for him to blindly confide in other people without being able to do something himself. He was more the sort of guy who threw himself into hails of bullets instead of sending others. Usually, it was him the others confided in, the one they could count on. He was always the strong one on whose advice and action the others relied. The possibility that it should now be the other way round filled him with unease. However, Charlie was not any stranger, after all, but his brother. And Charlie certainly would never knowingly do anything that endangered one of them, right? No, he would surely not endanger him, Don. And himself… no, for something like that Charlie was much too… well, Charlie.

"Don?"

Charlie was looking at him, his eyebrows raised, obviously slightly indignant about the fact that Don was taking so long to decide whether he could trust his brother yet or not. A little abashed, Don cleared his throat and struck a light note, featuring a rough contrast to their surroundings. "Yeah, 'course… go ahead!"

Charlie was immediately on fire again. "Okay. Our situation is rather obvious. These guys won't probably let us get out of here alive, and we can't open the skylight either. So we have to arrange for them to open the skylight before we turn into dust down here."

"Sounds great. And how exactly do you wanna make them let us out? I think I missed that part."

Charlie ignored the sarcastic tone. "With fire."

"Fire?" Uh-oh. Suspicion was growing in Don's mind.

"Yes, fire. We'll have to set a blaze so they'll open the skylight and we can subdue them."

Damn! Why the hell did Don always have to be right about his suspicions? "You're tired of living, then", he said tonelessly. "The odds we'll survive that are less than zero."

"You're wrong! For one thing, there are no negative probabilities," – Don rolled his eyes, groaning, but Charlie stuck to his guns –, "and for another, our chances of surviving aren't bad!" he cried. "At least enough so we can't take the risk of not trying! Who knows, maybe it was the helping hand of fate that earlier the straw had caught fire!"

Don couldn't believe what he was hearing. With a total lack of comprehension, he looked at his brother. "Since when do you believe in fate?" he asked confused.

"Since when are you the expert for probabilities here?" Charlie retorted. "What do you think I've been doing for the last thirty minutes? Renewing quantum theory? I've figured out how to set the blaze so that there's the lowest risk possible for us!"

"Yeah, but Charlie!" Don's tone became coaxing as if Charlie was a small child you had to tell not to jump into a snake pit. Or that two and two made four. "If we set a blaze, we'll burn to death! Or choke on it!"

"Have you been listening to me? I have figured out how to set the blaze!"

"Yes, that's all well and good, but I still won't throw my life away and hope that your formulas will catch it!"

"It's terms and equations for the most part –"

"I don't give a damn what they are! But you sure as hell will not light a fire in here!"

Angrily, they stared into each other's eyes neither wanting to back down. Eventually, it was Charlie who tore his gaze away and turned around. "Well," he said and something conclusive was in his voice. "Well. If you don't want to help me and prefer to rot in this hole…"

"Better than being barbecued!" Don retorted sharply, but truth be told he was unbelievingly relieved that Charlie had given up his stupid idea. There would surely be an alternative.

"It reduces our chances of ever getting out of here again to a minimum," Charlie lectured with acted indifference, "but aside from that, your reaction is completely plausible and correct, to be sure." He returned to the wall in order to cross out his terms with a furious energy.

Don watched him for some seconds and then lay down in the corner onto the straw, closing his eyes to think. It was much too late when he realized what Charlie was doing. For the second time this day he heard a crackling, and slowly, a pungent smell seeped into his nose.

Don jumped up, aghast. Charlie couldn't be–? He hadn't –? Yes. He had.

Over there, yellow-red flames were licking up the wall. Don leapt up and rushed over to stamp them out, but two hands pushed so hard at his chest that he stumbled backwards in surprise.

"Charlie? What are you doing? You wanna kill us both?"

Charlie's eyes were sparkling. "Oh no. That's your plan! I wanted to get us out of here!"

"You're crazy," Don murmured, and tried to push past his little brother. It wasn't as easy as in former times, though. Two seconds later, he was lying on the floor, surprised and overwhelmed by Charlie's judo grip that – as Don realized grimly – was adapted from the FBI training course.

But that was too much. Charlie wasn't going to kill them. He jumped up and rushed up to him, and this time he didn't commit the mistake of underestimating his opponent. After less than a minute, Charlie was already lying on the floor, coughing and bruised. Don had had to strike hard, but currently he couldn't feel guilty about it. The main thing was that the two of them didn't burn to death. At lightning speed, Don took up his jacket from the floor having used it as a pillow not more than two minutes ago, and smothered the fortunately still little fire with it.

The flames were soon out, and when Don turned around, Charlie was just struggling up to a sitting position. Then he skidded away from him, towards the wall. To get away from his blows. Just as in the past.

Like lightening, the memory crossed Don's mind. He had been thirteen when Charlie had tried to ride his big brother's bike. Of course he'd been much too small for it. Don, however, had become so furious, always feeling that Charlie wanted to take everything away from him, that he had battered him so hard that he was grounded for two weeks afterwards. And when after a week and a half he had been brooding about his math homework Charlie had hesitantly come into his room and had helped him…

As quickly as it had come, Don managed to push the memory aside. With a trace of a guilty conscience he noticed Charlie's split upper lip and the blood soaking out of his nose that he was trying to stop with his sleeve. He had obviously struck home. He also thought he'd seen Charlie dragging his left leg when he'd withdrawn from him. And Don remembered dimly other blows he'd given him. In his desperation he must have hit him harder, more often, and for a longer time than would have been necessary.

With remorse, however, there was also the need to justify. "What were you thinking?" he asked unable to understand, and only with a slight trace of reproach in his voice. He sat against the wall, next to his brother, who instinctively skidded sideways a bit. And fear wasn't the main reason for his behaviour. For Don was not the only one with a guilty conscience.

However, it was Don who took the initiative. Companionably, he laid his arm around his brother's shoulders, trying to ignore the fact that Charlie's shoulders tensed at the touch.

"You alright?" Don asked and tried to look him in the eye. Charlie lifted his head and looked sideways a little. To the wrong side, though.

"Hey." Don didn't want them to argue now. He didn't want his brother to be mad with him. Who could tell for how many hours they'd stay alive? "Listen, Charlie, I'm sorry. I didn't want –"

"Oh, stop it."

Don stopped short. Charlie was still looking away from him, but he sounded neither furious nor scared.

Eventually, Charlie turned his gaze away from the void in front of the bare wall and stared at his hands instead, knotted into one another. "I'm sorry, okay?" He lifted his head anew, looking at Don. His older brother paused for an instant. What was Charlie apologizing for again? Oh yeah. He'd nearly got them killed. Right.

"How about we forgive each other and we're even?" Don asked uncertainly.

Charlie nodded, and he risked a slight, wry smile, and then gripped his brother's forearm. Don hesitated a second and grabbed Charlie briefly round the back of his neck.