[glencola] inbox

[aluminumandash]

we love minimalism in this house (that's why there's no furniture)

RE419S

Comments

[aluminumandash]

[ 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

how bad

[cactusy]

[She doesn't keep messaging. She doesn't see the point, unless twenty-four hours pass and the first message disappears: if he can't or won't answer the first, then it stands to reason that he can't or won't answer a second.

But she is relieved when he responds.]

Not here. Airfield got it bad.

[aluminumandash]

theyre moving se [ A feeble protest against the certainty that the airfield's been wiped out, buildings infested, bodies stripped of meat. ] wheres she now?

[cactusy]

Still there, last I heard. You doing ok?

[aluminumandash]

why?

hurt?

[cactusy]

Randvi? No, I think she just basically lives there now.

[aluminumandash]

[ It's at this point that he checks the callsign list, which is a relief but leaves him more bewildered than before. ] you told me they hit it

can you talk?

audio

[cactusy]

Yeah.

[Please ignore how worn out she sounds, Rust.]

Yeah, she says the crabs showed up like something out of a horror movie--

[Shaw's assessment, obviously, not the Viking's.]

-- and a couple people got hurt, but they're all okay.

[aluminumandash]

Fuck's sake. [ Emerges all in a breath, his voice a ragged scrap. He sways on his feet, adjusts his sweaty grip on the walkie. They're fine. Makes no fucking sense, but they're fine.

Leaving him to try and fit a vision to words. There's a pause, his gaze cutting across the landscape. He resists the compulsion to look back. ] I'm gonna, I'm gonna tell you what I saw. I'm up in the mountains a ways, yeah, and I, it's—

They're swarming the forest. I mean for miles that's all there was, en fucking masse. Trees're crawling with them. Like, like flies on a corpse, don't know what you're looking at at first. [ He stops. Not really a pause: he's run out of words or maybe energy.

Eventually: ] Where are you?

[cactusy]

Coming for you. Close. Don't go too far. If you do move, move west.

[Sorry, buddy; she still thinks sharing exact locations over the walkies is probably a bad idea.]

You sound like crap.

[aluminumandash]

[ He shakes his head. Swallows back you don't believe me. Of course she doesn't: she doesn't believe any of this. ] Don't be a fucking moron. [ He says, harsh. Feeling the words in his chest.

He retains the wit, at least, not to just tell her to run. ] Go back to base. They need you there.

[cactusy]

Dude, you called me, and I'm close to your position. What the hell are you talking about?

[aluminumandash]

Situation's changed, ain't it. [ Tense, not heated. ] Fuck, I don't know what the situation is.

[cactusy]

I'm coming. Hoping to get there tomorrow.

[aluminumandash]

[ Without realizing he makes a frustrated noise. He can't fairly argue that she ought to listen, pay attention to what he's seen—not when he doesn't know where it came from, when it could be something in his head turning reality like a kaleidoscope. It sure as hell sounds crazy out loud. ]

Alright. [ Said in the same tone as: fuck. ] But you start seeing crabs, you head the other way.

[cactusy]

Shut up; your arguing is slowing me down.

[Not actually; she's moving about the same regardless. And after a moment--]

I'm not ditching you.

[aluminumandash]

[ He closes his eyes a moment. Breathes out. ] Pain in the ass. [ He says, with something like gratitude. ]

[cactusy]

You have no idea.