[Using the same whatever-poem-he-used, but still doggedly sticking with her trick of bouncing around and not using the same occurrence of a given letter every time:]
I M C O M I N G
[They really should have just shot the stupid cabin fucker.]
[ The thought rears up: he doesn't want her seeing him like this. He doesn't even know what it means. Alive? Put together, whole? He shoves it aside. ] You hurt? Still got the kit? [ The rasp hasn't left his voice.
He punches buttons as she answers, spelling out: ] w a t c h t r e e s
Missing time. [ He says, casting back over their conversation. Filling in the blanks. ] Drugged? Not whatever it was those drones were jabbing us with, that went out like a fucking lamb.
Yeah. [ He agrees in a rough hum, following that line of thought. ] How—what happened? You got time?
[ And out of step with the rest of the conversation—he starts typing the moment it pops in his head, almost compulsive—comes: ] c a n t r e a d e n g l i s h [ Which Rust should've picked up on soon as he saw that clawed-up bone, those scratches. But if she has the means to leave a warning, a note, better late than never. ]
[ To his credit or not, that doesn't trip him up. The thought of himself as a corpse. ] Tell me. [ He breathes it out, involuntary and intent. ] What you saw, what you felt. Everything.
[It's hard, with how out of it she'd been; harder still, considering how muddled she feels now. While she thinks, she sends another coded message: WHERE ARE Y O U? N S E W?]
Tall. Big yellow fangs. I followed it, and it looked like... days were going by. I kept seeing the moon rise and set, and then the jungle was on fire--
[She cuts herself off with a small sound of frustration.]
Like I said. Pretty sure I just dreamed a lot of it.
[ He gives her another handful of seconds, in case she wants to pick up where she left off. ] Sounds like how my pop talked about Nam. [ He says, close to a murmur. Recalling in the moment. The torched jungle, the bleed of time.
He looks at the numbers she's sent, but for now they go unanswered. ] Did it see you?
[ A clenched little pause, like a held breath. ] It matters. Sometimes, sometimes there's real and there's true. [ He listens a while after that, to the bundle of wires and plastic clamped in his hand. Knowing he's talking like a junkie.
But eventually he dredges up the poem, links numbers to letters. Sends back: ] s e
[ A rough: ] Uh-huh. [ As though that's confirmed something. ] When you came to—now—does it look like you've been walking? Mud on your shoes, scratches?
[ He wastes no time in following with: ] c a l l e d y o u m y p e t
m i g h t e x p e c t y o u t o h e e l [ Which is to say, lead him right to Rust. ]
[She lets out a quiet little huff at the question, clicking her tongue.]
You think I wasn't already covered in mud and scratches? Kinda hard to tell if there's more, but, uh-- I don't think so.
[But she sounds distracted as she says it, the bulk of her attention already on the coded message - the far more important bit, as far as she's concerned. She's as certain as she can be that she's not being followed on foot, but all her training on shaking a tail had been city-based, not wilderness-based. "As certain as she can be" isn't as certain as she'd like.]
[She trusts that once he has the rest of the message figured out, he'll be able to realize that she's using the number 2 to stand in for "to", as opposed to the second letter of the poem: just another attempt to throw off anyone who might be reading their messages and trying to codebreak.]
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aluminumandash) wrote2023-05-15 04:37 pm
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I M C O M I N G
[They really should have just shot the stupid cabin fucker.]
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He punches buttons as she answers, spelling out: ] w a t c h t r e e s
m o v e s t h r u c a n o p y
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[It'd have to be potent as hell to get her that bad out in the open.]
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[ And out of step with the rest of the conversation—he starts typing the moment it pops in his head, almost compulsive—comes: ] c a n t r e a d e n g l i s h [ Which Rust should've picked up on soon as he saw that clawed-up bone, those scratches. But if she has the means to leave a warning, a note, better late than never. ]
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Everything was kinda hazy after that. Don't know what was real and what wasn't-- even more than usual.
[Hardy har har.]
I found your body, and a big... thing carried you away.
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[It's hard, with how out of it she'd been; harder still, considering how muddled she feels now. While she thinks, she sends another coded message: WHERE ARE Y O U? N S E W?]
Tall. Big yellow fangs. I followed it, and it looked like... days were going by. I kept seeing the moon rise and set, and then the jungle was on fire--
[She cuts herself off with a small sound of frustration.]
Like I said. Pretty sure I just dreamed a lot of it.
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He looks at the numbers she's sent, but for now they go unanswered. ] Did it see you?
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[Where are you, buddy?]
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But eventually he dredges up the poem, links numbers to letters. Sends back: ] s e
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It saw me. I think. It looked like it saw me.
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[ He wastes no time in following with: ] c a l l e d y o u m y p e t
m i g h t e x p e c t y o u t o h e e l [ Which is to say, lead him right to Rust. ]
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You think I wasn't already covered in mud and scratches? Kinda hard to tell if there's more, but, uh-- I don't think so.
[But she sounds distracted as she says it, the bulk of her attention already on the coded message - the far more important bit, as far as she's concerned. She's as certain as she can be that she's not being followed on foot, but all her training on shaking a tail had been city-based, not wilderness-based. "As certain as she can be" isn't as certain as she'd like.]
u w o r r i e d ?
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[ A pause. ] w h y l e t u l i v e
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i d k
w a n t m e 2 s t a y a w a y]
[She trusts that once he has the rest of the message figured out, he'll be able to realize that she's using the number 2 to stand in for "to", as opposed to the second letter of the poem: just another attempt to throw off anyone who might be reading their messages and trying to codebreak.]
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