fic: boneyards, risk

Why do I like writing from Code's point of view so much? Huh. Anyway, 459 words. Companion pieces are Finding, Yesterday's Child, and Purpose. This one is the only one to feature the boneyards the verse is named for, though.

Code is one of the most depressingly practical characters I've ever created.

Risk

He was warm--hot--there were hands on him, soft, a woman whispering soothing words into his ear. And then the cold rushed in, chasing away the dream, and he opened his eyes and saw morning.

Code shifted. There were bones digging into his back; fragments drew red patterns on his left arm. Above, the ribs they'd slept against cast striped shadows onto the ground. The boneyard was utterly silent. Code touched the black sheet that covered Liam. When he felt the slight stirs of movement, the rise-and-fall of a thin chest, he withdrew his hand.

It felt--stupid--checking to see if Liam was still alive every time he woke up, but he still did it. It made Code feel better.

He checked their bag. There was a bottle of water, mostly clean. There were cigarettes, but they were Elle's, and untouched. He tried to picture her--wherever she was, traveling and searching, without her customary cigarettes. It didn't fit.

There was an extra blanket, but no food.

Today, his arm hurt. Code pressed it against his chest and flexed the thin fingers. He would need to hunt. He would have to leave Liam alone. It was a necessary risk.

He'd left his mother alone, once, and when he'd come back he'd found her gone, with blood on the ground, his little sister hidden in a place no babe should ever be--half-buried under the sand, her scent masked by mushrooms.

But he needed to hunt. It was a necessary risk.

He'd left his sister alone--not just once, but twice, and thrice, and many more times after that. He learned which scents drove predators away, that movement attracted attention, that the wind was as much enemy as friend.

Liam wasn't his sister. And it was a necessary risk.

Code leaned forward. "Liam," he said. "Liam, I have to go. I'll be back."

Liam didn't answer. Code thought he heard a slight hitch in his breathing. He was probably wrong. He drew the blanket tightly over the man, covering him completely, and hid the dark color as best he could under old bone and fragments sharp against his skin. He thought he understood Elle's need for cigarettes.

He stood. His footsteps broke the deep silence. The shadows on the ground had shifted slightly, warming slightly as the morning grew older. Code wrapped his fingers around Wyndham's knife. He didn't think about Liam. He thought about traps without bait, about insects in hidden nests, about worms and chrysalises. The morning was still cold, and he thought briefly, irrationally, of Ilsa, but then the wind brushed against him and he raised his head and smiled as he registered the tangy sweetness.

It was morning, and his arm had stopped aching.

Labels: _fiction, c: code, c: elle, c: liam, verse: boneyards