Roderick’s shrill cry was still ringing in Daniel’s ears. 

Nevermind the explosion of rotting timber, and the audible crack of his own kneecaps, or the tappity tap  of the Guzzler’s claws on the door—all Daniel heard was Roderick’s shrill cry ringing in his ears. He dared himself and leered down at the wrung out fingers. It looked like they were reaching out to him for help.

Daniel shuddered and felt a creeping sense of uncertainty.  It was the kind of uncertainty that was akin to accidentally stepping down onto a snail. Where you could feel the crisp cracking of its shell underneath your foot, despite not seeing it. Is Roderick alright?

“Ro-Roddy?” his voice cracked. And the fingers remained unmoving, like a pile of twigs.

Mustering all the courage he was able to scavenge deep from within himself, Daniel counted himself down, “Five.. four.. three,” he scurried closer on his knees., “two..” and before he’d even made it down to the count of one, Daniel impulsively threw his arm out and grasped the thing he could hardly call a hand.

It curled its fingers around him in a vice grip and Daniel felt his palm seizing up. He yelped and desperately tried to draw his hand away. He was unsuccessful. It was like a bear trap, clutch growing tighter and tighter, like the teeth of a starving animal around a slab of meat it had to fight for.

“What are you doing?” said a voice behind him. 

Daniel’s heart skipped a beat when he whipped his head around in bewilderment. His cobalt blues were wide and mouth agape. The room, he swore, was ten degrees cooler. Roderick sat by the wall. That wall. The wall across the room. The wall that Daniel forbade the both of them to ever so much as glance at.  

The worry in his chest quickly evolved into a bubbling, simmering pot of frustration. “No,” Daniel started, “you shouldn’t be there! What are you doing?” Keep it together, Daniel.

“Sitting.” Mockery. Daniel knew it when he heard it.

“Come here!” Daniel snapped. He drew back, pushing his fingertips into his temples, and released a controlled, exasperated sigh. He couldn’t look up to meet his partner in the eye. There was another set of eyes that Daniel felt. Eyes that he felt belonged to the Darkness.

“Sitting,” Roderick answered, snapping back.

Daniel tore his eyes away from Roderick and tentatively glanced down.  Gone were the lump of bony fingers from underneath the crate debris. Out of panic, he scrambled, flipping over the end of his coat sleeve. Red marks embellished his palm, snaking over to the back of his hand. The rashes served as a reminder of what held him. They hurt to touch.

That wasn’t Roddy that grabbed me, was it?

BAM, BAM, BAM.

If it were not for his utter confusion, Daniel would’ve been more alarmed at the door threatening to pop out on its hinges. The Guzzlers aggravatingly continued to push against it like a frenzied crowd clearing out a grocer the day the government proclaimed a province wide lock-down.

Daniel swallowed the lump at his throat and pushed his palms down into the ground, attempting to stand on his feet. They wobbled as he felt the twinge in his ankles flaring up with agitation from the weight of his body. He tipped his chin towards Roderick. “Get over here right now,” he demanded.

“No,” came a curt reply.

Keep it together, Daniel. Keep. It. together.

“It’s not safe there!” Daniel heard his own voice crack.

“How’s it any better over there?” stated Roderick.

“Roderick.” Feet staggering one after the other, Daniel ignored the blatant burn travelling up his calves. He coughed and rubbed his nose from the foulness that seemed so much more potent. Nausea was not a feeling that visited Daniel often, but when it did, it always came with what he thought was an undeserved vengeance. Patience wearing thin, Daniel growled, “I said come here right now—”

BAM, BAM, BAM.

“Hold on a second!” Roderick seethed to the hoard on the other side of the door. It tickled something in Daniel’s brain, reminding him of the days that Roderick had said the same thing to their local milkman. Mostly during mornings that they were interrupted.

Abruptly, lost memories visited Daniel, from a time before the Outbreak: warm fuzzy Sundays,  toast adorned with a sunny-side up egg and a cup of milk on the side—or milk with his Earl Grey, in Daniel’s specific case—and a piece of whatever fruit Roderick had bought that week; affectionate embraces, shy kisses and slow dances in their living room, Soozi in her crib cheerfully clapping to the beat of the bouncing swing jazz playing through the gramophone.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

He breathed in sharply, opened his eyes and blinked hard. The taste of cotton on his tongue was not something he remembered since before all the crates came tumbling down. His throat itched, his head pounded... Metal handles from the dresser dug into his back.

“Bad dream?” asked Roderick.

“What?” is all Daniel was able to manage, recognizing the warmth of Roderick curled up into his side. At the corner of his eye, Daniel caught sight of one crate, then another stacked atop of that. Then there was another… and another after that. They formed a tower, one so high that it reached the sill of a window. Daniel swallowed. All the windows were still boarded up.

What is this bullshit?

It must’ve been the look on his face for Roderick snorted into laughter. “You shoulda seen yourself.  You were twitching and everything! I thought you were gonna punch me. Luckily I didn’t get kicked like that time you did out of reflex when Jinny walked in on me giving you a blowie—Dan?”

Daniel breathed deeply. He clenched his fist and winced from a sharpness that shot up his wrist. The pain was also still evident in his knees. A dull burn until he moved it the perfect, wrong way.

“When did this happen?” Roderick reached over and gently opened up each finger, unfolding them like petals on a daisy. 

“I-I—” Daniel started, staring at the marred lines in horror. He remembered how the twisted claw dug  its decaying fingernails into his skin. How it felt like ice, burning into his skin. It took all and everything out of Daniel to refrain from ripping away from Roderick. That wasn’t him, he repeated. That wasn’t him. 

“Don’t worry about it,” muttered Daniel.

“Hey.” Roderick said softly, tapping Daniel’s cheek for attention. “Should we try the talkie again?” It had been about a day or two—Daniel wasn’t entirely sure at this point—for the last time they were able to send a transmission out to Bee and Mason.

Daniel thought about shutting Roderick down. He knew that there were often times when left long enough, batteries would have a second breath of energy. Just never a full charge. “Sounds like a good idea,” Daniel said anyway, despite his disbelief. 

“Great. Let’s do it then. But stop looking at me like that,” Roderick said while handing the radio over. “Haven’t you ever left a couple of batteries for a hot second only to have a second chance with a bit of juice in ‘em?”

“‘Course I have.”

Daniel turned the wheel on the front of the talkie and pushed the red button. The radio stuttered and came back to life.

ZZZZTTTTT.

The sound of the static felt unreasonably loud. Daniel held his breath, and Roderick did too, as hope budded within their chests. Pushing the transmitter button down with a thumb, there was a second when the static momentarily cut out. He pushed the anxiety down and waited two seconds. Daniel spoke into the microphone, “Bee, this is Daniel. Over.”

To say that their anticipation was not palpable was an understatement. 

Daniel repeated himself, giving Roderick a concerned look, “Bee, this is Daniel. Over.”

No response.

Licking his chapped lips once over, Daniel’s eyes narrowed as the thought of throwing the good-for-nothing talking talkie across the room seemed like a fantastic idea. He raised his arm, elbow high in the air, with the radio in his hand like a softball.

Daniel paused as a sudden spritz of static sliced through the silence and the both of them immediately leapt to answer the radio. BEEP.

“Daniel, this is Bee. Stand by—” clear gunfire sprinkled the background. Daniel’s eyes widened as he listened to the nearly intangible, garbled mess from the otherside of the radio. If he tried hard enough, he swore he heard a chorus of Guzzlers shrieking. Somewhere in the mix, was also Mason. And then it cut out.

When Bee returned, gone was the hissing mosh pit. Click. “Daniel! Where the fuck have the both of you been?” 

A relief graced him, knowing that at least Bee hadn’t forgotten about them. Daniel brought the radio up to his mouth, his palms sweating. “We managed to get into Blessie’s but the ground gave out and we fell into the basement. We need help, Bee. We’re stuck. Over.”

Daniel and Roderick were huddled around the device. They waited for a response, seconds ticking by. As the pause swelled, so did their dread.

“Bee?” Daniel despised how shaky his voice was. No reply. 

“Did it cut out or what?” Roderick rubbed his temples, clearly agitated.

“I-I don’t know,” Daniel replied, his heart caught in his throat. He pushed down the button and spoke into the microphone again, “Bee, this is Daniel. Over.”

“Fuck,” sighed Roderick. He threw his hands up in the air. “It fucking cut out! Again!”

As Daniel set down the radio, something inside of him broke. He knew he needed to manage his expectations for batteries that were basically dead, but hope was a fickle thing. A rising tension started to cultivate from within his chest. Were the windows above the ground really the only means they had for escape? But what of the dream?.. The hand.

“You have to get them,” urged Roderick, pulling Daniel out of his messy thoughts.

“Get what?”

“My batteries. The talkie might be shot, but the batteries may still have juice in ‘em.”

Daniel recognized the annoyance that he started to feel. “What are you talking about, Roddy? You don’t have extra batteries. You don’t have a radio, for crying out loud! We’ve got mine and that’s all that we have.”

“But I do have one.”

“Then where is it?” Daniel pressed, asking through gritted teeth. They locked eyes. Daniel’s breath hitched as his frustration grew but Roderick remained still. Strangely calmer than Daniel had ever seen him when they argued.

The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck rose. Breathing suddenly became more difficult, like he’d been submerged, swallowing a gulpful of water. 

And with a bleakness that suddenly crossed his dark orbs, Roderick whispered, “Across the room.”

There was something, and Daniel didn’t know what, that caused him to stand up. It pulled him to the otherside of the room, his nostrils flaring at the rancid stench that filled the air. The pain in his body was only a faint murmur at this point. 

“Take the batteries,” he heard a voice say.

Before he was able to react, everything went black.