Bitty Bang - "Boomtown" - Part V
Dec. 5th, 2008 07:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
raynedanserwrites
Even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to, he had listened to Mama and Papa talk in hushed tones when they’d thought he was in bed. Gracie was sound asleep, had been since sundown, but he couldn’t sleep. Mama and Papa were worried and that scared him. he’d heard them talking about the sickness that was taking over the town and how everyone was dying. Mama wanted to leave, but Papa wouldn’t let her go. What if they were sick everywhere else too? Easton knew that the trains had stopped coming to town, so maybe everyone was getting sick everywhere and dying. Maybe Papa was right.
But then a thought occurred to him. What if Papa was wrong? What if other people weren’t dying in other towns? What if ... he shuddered as he could barely finish the thought. What if he ran away and made it to one of those towns? What if he lived? He climbed back into his bed and pretended to be asleep when Mama came in and kissed his forehead goodnight like she did every other night. Then, when he was sure everyone was asleep, he carefully slipped out of the bed.
The night was dark as he carefully opened the back door of their house. He winced as it creaked on its rusty old hinges and glanced quickly back over his shoulder. Mama had always been a light sleeper and he didn’t want to wake her. If he did, this would never ever work and he’d never get away.
He waited a moment with one hand on the knob and didn’t move as he listened carefully. Once he had convinced himself that he hadn’t woken anyone up, he slipped out the door and closed it firmly. He stood on the back stoop for a few moments as he tried to gather his wits. It was dark, darker than he’d thought it would be, even with the lights on the poles.
He walked to the center of the field behind their house, where the McAdams used to live before the sickness came and took them away like it had taken so many of the others in his town. Like it was soon to take his family, too. Taking a deep breath, he stood straighter, trying to feel more brave than he was, and began walking. He had no idea where he was walking to, only that he had to get away, soon, before he got sick like the rest of his family.
It scared him, the sickness did. It made people cough and sound funny and cough up yucky stuff. They smelled and said funny and sometimes scary things. Last weekend, his Nana had died from the sickness, and now his family was starting to get sick too. When he’d asked Doc Singleton about it, he’d been told there was nothing to be done except help them be comfortable. That they were going to die and go to heaven to be with God.
Well, Easton was 9 and he didn’t want to be with God yet. He wanted to play with the puppy the Sanborns just got and he wanted to ride a horse into the mountains and back again and milk the McAllister’s cow and ride on a train car. He wanted to see the city and go to the ocean and see the Empire State Building. He had so many things that he wanted to do and places he wanted to go and if he got the sickness, he wouldn’t be able to do any of that.
So he made a plan, packed a rucksack with some extra socks and bread and snuck out the back door of Mama’s kitchen and started walking. As he set out across the dark field behind papa’s house, he realized it was darker than he’d expected. And creepier. There were lots of lumps and mounds lit up by the bright moon and shapes that were in silhouette. He heard a lot of sounds that he didn’t normally hear during the day. He didn’t know what a lot of the noises were and didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. He knew what a coyote sounded like, though, and hoped he wouldn’t run into one.
He remembered Papa saying there was another town, just on the other side of the hills. He hoped Papa was right as he forced himself to keep walking through the open fields that surrounded the town.
The repair shop that their car was towed to later that afternoon was barely better than the town they’d just left, Chris noted sourly. A small attached carport stretched out in front of the building made out of painted limestone blocks with 3 columns supporting it on the other side. The bases of the columns were made of the same blocks and then wooden beams went up the rest of the way. Two old gas pumps sat in the spaces between the columns. The tow truck was old, the equipment was old, the building was even older and painted with faded white paint. Instead of a paved parking area in front of the building, underneath the carport was a concrete pad and on the other side of the pumps was just dirt.
Now he and Lance were on a wooden bench underneath the carport and Chris was sure he’d be picking splinters out of his ass for days after this little excursion. JC had taken sympathy on him when he’d heard about Chris’s ankle and then his stomach had rumbled and had left Lance and Chris as he’d gone off in search of food. He’d come back a little while later, beaming as he carried white paper bags in one hand and a cardboard tray with soft drink cups in the other. Chris had snatched the bags from JC and found chips and a couple of candy bars in one bag and hot steak and cheese sandwiches in the other. As he peeled open one sandwich, JC sat next to him and handed him a cup filled with cold soda and ice.
“I love you,” he mumbled to JC around a mouthful of food.
“Gross,” JC commented. “I thought you loved Lance.”
Chris appeared to think about it until Lance elbowed him in the side. “Ok, you’re right, I do. But right now, my stomach loves you very much,” he amended.
It didn’t take long to devour the food JC had brought them, then they sat in silence as they waited for the car to be repaired. As they sat there, Chris held on to Lance’s hand and listened to the sounds of an air ratchet and an air compressor inside the garage as it kicked on every so often. Once in a while, a tool would clank heavily to the floor, followed by a curse that made even JC blush.
Chris had dozed off with his head against Lance’s shoulder by the time Easton came back out of the garage. Lance jiggled his shoulder to wake him and when he opened his eyes, Easton stood in front of them, wiping his hands on a big greasy rag. He fiddled with his cap and left greasy fingerprints when he spoke.
“Car’s fixed. Luckily for you, it was just a cracked hose. Put a new one on, couple of new clamps, and refilled the coolant. Easy to fix, cheap too. Smart thinking, pulling over before you cracked the block or warped the head,” he told Lance with approval. “Get it looked at when you get back to where ever it is you’re going, just to be sure. Keys’re in it,” he finished.
The three of them stood almost simultaneously and Lance held his hand out to Easton for a handshake, grease and all. “Thanks, we really appreciate it.”
Easton looked at the trio seriously for a moment, a hint of something in his eyes that Chris couldn’t quite put a name to. “No, thank you. I’d never been able to bring myself to go back there and you brought something to my family that I never could,” he said in a voice thick with emotion.
Chris nodded and waited, expecting a bill for the work to be thrust their way, but Easton only nodded to them one more time, closed the hood of the car and wiped it down carefully with a clean, soft rag. Chris smiled and gave him a half grin, knowing there was no way they could ever even this out, then indicated to Lance they should get in the car.
“I call shotgun!” Chris called out, breaking the moment. He opened the door on the passenger side and climbed in, dropped into the seat heavily.
Lance sighed and shook his head, then opened the driver’s side door. “JC? How did you get up here?” Lance finally asked.
JC hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Car. It’s back at the hotel. Got a room there last night. Can I hitch a ride back with you?” he wanted to know, with one hand already on the handle of the back door.
Lance nodded and smiled. “Sure.”
After the last couple days, Chris would have been happy to see just about anything at the hotel. He didn’t even care when they got there that they had a room with two king size beds, as long as there was a bed in it. JC opened the door and toed it open, then the three of them shuffled in and Chris sat on the furthest bed and dropped back, closing his eyes.
“I could sleep for a week,” he groaned.
Lance dropped the bag near the bed and a moment later Chris heard himclick on what he assumed was the bathroom light. The shower was turned on, then Lance said, “Not yet you’re not. We both stink, we both need showers, then I don’t care what you do.” And two seconds later, his sweaty, grimey shirt landed in a heap on Chris’s head.
“Ew!” Chris shouted, tossing the tee shirt aimlessly. “I can sleep after I shower?”
“Promise,” Lance said, coming back out and straddling Chris’s hips. He leaned down and kissed Chris quickly, then got up again. “Me first though,” he said as he skipped to the bathroom.
Chris was almost asleep when JC pounced on the bed. “So what happened?” he asked.
Chris peeked open his eyes. “Car broke down, found a ghost town, ghost found us, we buried some bodies, went to sleep, then you found us.” When JC’s eyes grew wide, he chuckled and sat up a little. “You really want to know?” Chris asked.
“Yeah, I really wanna know. I know the car broke down, that was pretty obvious, but then what? Ghosts? Bodies? How did you know who Easton was?” JC asked the questions rapid fire, making Chris’s tired brain sputter.
Chris sat up and slowly went through the events, laughing at JC a little bit when he started talking about Gracie. Chris had only gotten as far as when he heard her footsteps when Lance came back out of the bathroom in a tee shirt and boxers. Chris swallowed, hopped up, kissed him quickly, then dashed into the bathroom for his turn. The sooner he was done, the sooner they could finish with JC’s questions, and the sooner he could get to sleep. With any luck, he would sleep for a week.
Chris undressed quickly, and then turned the shower as hot as he could stand it and stepped in. He leaned his head against the cool, damp tile and closed his eyes as the water ran down his back. He hadn’t realized until he’d laid down on the bed just how tired and how sore he really was. The hot water was like a small bit of heaven and he wasn’t eager to leave it.
He stayed in as long as he dared to and when he finally shut the water off and got out of the shower, a thick steam filled the room. He chuckled as he dried off, then pulled on his boxers and picked up some tourist tee shirt that still had a bright orange sticker with the price stuck to its shoulder and pulled it on. He opened the door and listened as Lance was finishing up the story.
JC was completely engrossed, Chris realized. He was stretched out on his bed on his belly, propped up on his elbows and watching Lance with wide eyes. Chris chuckled, then limped slowly across the hotel room to their own bed and sat next to Lance.
“When did you start limping?” JC wanted to know.
“When I fell through some boards yesterday. Tylenol has long worn off and I walked way too much today.”
“How do those scratches look?” Lance asked as he picked up the back pack. He pulled it open and dug out the Tylenol, frowning when only a few pills skittered around inside the bottle, then some water and the first aide kid. He passed the Tylenol to Chris, who gladly took a few more, then offered his ankle to Lance. It was tender and he knew the scratches had gotten dirty. He’d done what he could with them in the shower, but also knew Lance wouldn’t be happy until Lance had examined and cleaned them himself.
Lance tugged Chris’s ankle into his lap and turned it so he could see the scratches. Lance gently cleaned out any new debris that may have gotten into the scratches, then used his fingertips to apply fresh antibiotic ointment and band aides. When he was done, he gave Chris’s knee a pat before nudging it onto the floor.
“Can I go to bed now?” Chris asked, wiggling his toes.
Lance chuckled. “Yeah, go to bed, you big baby.”
Chris waited patiently as Lance climbed beneath the blankets, then held them back for him. He slipped in. The sheets were cheap and scratchy, the fabric softener was stale and barely had any smell left to it and the bed was both hard and lumpy and yet – Chris had never been more comfortable. He sighed happily as Lance’s arm wrapped around him from behind and snuggled down, then closed his eyes. Tomorrow, this whole thing would be like some weird dream and he couldn’t be happier for it.
~ Fini
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Date: 2008-12-06 01:30 am (UTC)Easton was very brave to set out on his own at the tender age of nine, to want to live despite all the odds facing him to even get to the next town. I can understand why he wouldn't go back. He had to feel a certain amount of guilt for being the sole survivor of the sickness.
Again, great job.
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Date: 2008-12-06 02:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-06 02:17 am (UTC)I love your wintery icon. Almost makes me want snow.
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Date: 2008-12-06 02:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-06 02:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-12 03:34 am (UTC)I liked the hints of Lance/Chrisness. I could tell there was something there, maybe some deeper relationship we weren't seeing on the outside, but you didn't make it obvious and you let the reader take it as they wanted to, which is really nice. Sometimes I think as a reader it's nice to get those sorts of choices instead of being told, "This is how it is."
Anyway, great job, and I really enjoyed this :)
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Date: 2008-12-12 03:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-14 07:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-14 05:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-14 06:28 pm (UTC)I'm very glad to hear that you enjoyed it and I'll pass the word on to Wifey about the art, too. ;-)
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Date: 2008-12-14 07:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-18 06:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-29 02:19 am (UTC)