Lee Carrock, D4 (riptider) wrote in gamesofpanem, @ 2015-05-08 11:30:00 |
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The bread was all gone; Lee had stretched it out as long as he could, but he'd licked the last stale crumbs from his fingers last night. He'd stared hard at his last remaining fruit leather, his stomach tight and lean, but he wasn't some fucking soft pansy from One unused to going hungry. He ignored it and drank the tiniest sip of his water instead, leaning against the cool stone wall of this dark basement he'd found himself in. It was damp down here, but the cool felt good against the ear that was still hot and inflamed. His head hadn't stopped pounding and he couldn't hear a thing on his left side, but after five days he'd adjusted to it. And at least the gashes and burns on his left arm and side (fucking Paz) weren't bleeding or oozing anymore and seemed infection-free, thanks to the antiseptic cream he'd won for killing the tall boy from whatever forgettable district it was.
Lee was hungry and still weaker than he liked, but he was alive, he had a kill, and he had his knife, so really, this wasn't so bad. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment -- just to rest a little.
When he blinked awake again, it was with every nerve on high alert, because he'd heard someone. His knife was already in his hand, and he stayed as still as could be, his heartrate spiking as he listened as hard as he could for the whispering sound.
Lee.
He narrowed his eyes and clenched his fist around his knife. Was that fucking Reef? He didn't answer, just stayed still and listened for any clues as to which direction she was coming from. All his muscles were tense, ready to spring.
Lee, what are you waiting for? Aren't you ready for a fight?
It was on his left, his bad side, he was sure. She was trying to freak him out, make him panic in the dark, but Lee was not fucking panicking. "Dead bitch walking," he snarled, and flung himself in that direction, knife-first. It did occur to him that she might have the big Seven kid lurking to have her back, but fuck that. He wasn't running from this fight. He could take them both.
Lee skidded just short of the far wall. There was no one there, no sounds of breathing nearby, no scrape of movement against the stone floor. There was just his own harsh breaths and the thudding in his head.
Lee. You're going to die here, alone, in the dark, and you haven't even done anything yet.
The whisper slid across his scalp, raising the hairs on the back of his neck; Lee whirled, slashing out with his knife, but the blade cut only empty air.
A whispery laugh that seemed to echo from all corners of the room. What use are you? When you die, who will even care?
He made a wary sweep of the basement, his skin tingling, eyes wide open in the dark to catch any hint of motion. There was nothing, and no one.
Lee sidled back toward the stairs, keeping his left side to the wall. He was so focused on looking out that he never saw what he was walking into until it drifted down around his head, light as a feather but tangling him up as he instinctively twisted around.
He didn't scream, that was for little girls, but there was definitely some manful swearing going on as he fought the net. It took some thrashing around and a lot of ear-blistering language before he managed to fight free of it.
He leaned back against the wall again and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. "Fuck you," he said to empty air in an attempt to recover some of his dignity, and balled the net up to shove it into his pack. Maybe it'd be useful for something. "Go haunt somebody who fucking cares."
A breathy laugh followed him, and a rush of cool air, as he climbed the stairs probably more quickly than he really had to, to get out of that fucking basement.