Guns & Roses

Chapter 43

                                   [Sheriff]

Hours upon hours of walking in nothing but the dark. His shoulder stung with every waking moment, and he kept his free hand clutched on it, trying to save it from further damage. With how long they'd gone for his legs shook with both fear and exhaustion as he walked, like they'd collapse at any given step.

The rumbling in his stomach constantly reminded him that they didn't exist in a vacuum down here. If they didn't find a way out, they'd likely die, and as the time went it seemed less and less likely they'd find an exit.

How Hank did it, he had no clue. If it were just him, left alone with nobody else, he'd likely have given up by now.

Still, he craved reassurance. He needed to know that things were okay. It didn't matter it if was a lie, and it didn't matter if he denied it, he just needed to be told it was okay.

Though knowing Hank, no such assurance would come. He'd be left trailing behind him, clutching his arm in pain and exhaustion.

More concerningly, his shoulder had never stopped bleeding. It had been drained by the sleeve of his shirt as much as it could and it still ran. As he thought, blood was still racing down his arm and dripping off his fingers.

"How long have we been down here?" He wasn't sure why he asked. Neither did he know why he assumed Hank would have the answer. But it felt comforting to talk, it reminded him that he wasn't just fading into the darkness surrounding them.

Though, sadly, no response came. But for the first time, something inside him wasn't letting it go. No matter how much he told himself that it's just how Hank was, he wasn't taking no response.

"Hank, just say something. Please." He stopped walking. He could hear the desperation in his voice and he hated it.

Still, there was nothing but his own fading echo. In a sort of rush of emotion he didn't care about upsetting Hank anymore. He just needed something. Anything.

"Hank, I swear to god I'm losing my mind down here." It felt good to finally speak his mind, despite imaging what wrath might follow. "Please, just say something!"

Hank's footsteps had stopped, and for a moment relief washed over him as he assumed Hank was listening. He was listening, but not to Sheriff. A sound echoed through the cave, which would have him on his toes if it were organic, but instead it sounded mechanical.

When he could make out barely visible shadows and silhouettes he wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him, before realising it was real. There was light!

He almost cried out in relief before he heard heavy footsteps further down the tunnel. He wanted to walk down to greet them, but before anything else, Hank pulled them both flat against the wall, yanking his shoulder in the process.

Sheriff yelped in pain, to which Hank covered his mouth. For an instant he was stunned, before trying to breathe, only to realise he couldn't.

The people, whoever they were, were passing by their tunnel, meanwhile Sheriff was fighting the instinct to thrash and struggle for air. Besides, merely tensing his muscles sent shocks of pain through his shoulder, he'd hate to find out what thrashing about did to it.

However, despite the people passing by, Hank hadn't budged, and he was still without air. He tried tapping his arm in a bid to let him go, only for it to go ignored. Tired, hungry, and in utter pain, he jumped to the worst conclusion; Hank was trying to kill him.

Suddenly he was fighting like his life depended on it, because it likely did! Why else wasn't Hank letting him go?! He thrashed, and he fought, despite the unbearable bolts of pain coursing through him.