[ He doesn't hear the walkie's chirp. He's witnessing the island turning on itself—the crush of bodies in the treetops, the churn of them. His own body taut with pain in way that feels, for a moment that seems to expand until it exists outside of time, sympathetic.
He keeps thinking—it's taking shape. A little longer and he'll see it.
Maybe she sends the message again. Maybe—gaze exhausted by the frenzy of movement—it finally occurs to him to check. Either way, it's a long while before Rust musters: ] yes
no subject
He keeps thinking—it's taking shape. A little longer and he'll see it.
Maybe she sends the message again. Maybe—gaze exhausted by the frenzy of movement—it finally occurs to him to check. Either way, it's a long while before Rust musters: ] yes
how bad