The Line

Pathetic attempts at conversation

Waiting physically hurt.

Each time Flynn inhaled, invisible pieces of shrapnel in his chest poked equally invisible holes in his lungs, making the following breath that much harder to draw. It didn't help that he wasn't dry yet--not that he wouldn't have been shaking otherwise.

No, it really didn't help.

Beyond the dock, things were changing. For one, the fog was retreating, finally. This was both good and bad. Good: he would spot Juan earlier, if Juan truly was coming back. Bad: the storm's brief hiatus would soon come to an abrupt end.

Flynn groaned.

I screwed everything up,

I hope he listens to me.

I hope he's all right.

///

Weiss's pathetic attempts at conversation made things slightly more tolerable. Not that he was receiving answers, though: the Weather Man seemed immune to speech, ignoring every open-ended questions, as stoic as rock. And Flynn kept staring at nothing.

But when Weiss quieted down, defeated, they were totally silent--too silent, shuddering as thunder made the ground shake.

"So you care?" Flynn asked, if only to make the silence go far away. "You've cared all this time?"

Weiss's eyes widened. "I've always been fond of you, Flynn," he answered, slowly.

"I didn't know you were human," Flynn muttered.

"I never said I wasn't."

"But you work for the court, don't you?"

"Everyone who works for the court is human, in some form or another. It's not something you need to understand."

"I want to understand it." Flynn felt an invisible wave rise high above his head, cutting off his air supply and turning it into something thicker, something he needed to cough up. "Why you'd--you'd 'care'"--Flynn growled the word--"enough to do this to my friend! Why you'd choose me over Juan!"

Coolly, Weiss replied, "Because you're important, Flynn."

"I am not important! Don't you get it? If I was important, if I truly was, I wouldn't be here, would I?" Now Flynn was crying, but he paid the tears no mind, no matter that they stung. No matter that they burned a hot trail down his cheeks.

"Do you remember when I asked you what you would give to go back to the North Side?" Weiss questioned. "Do you remember what you said?"

Flynn panted, balling his fists. It hurt. Everything hurt so much, and he really couldn't see with all this salt in his eyes. "I said, 'Nothing,'" he whispered.

"I said, 'Nothing!'" he shouted.

"You're clever. You wear your heart on your sleeve. You hate to lie, but you're exceptional if you have to. You love too much. You hate too much. You can be naive. You're awkward, but you manage to be graceful. You're insane, or should I say sane?" Weiss's smile was unusually thin. "I've been in the Line for much longer than you might imagine, Flynn, and I can say, without a doubt, that you're the first living person I've ever seen."

Stunned to silence, Flynn only gaped.

///

"I see him." The Weather Man's first words since they had reached the dock--these words rang with unexpected force. "I see him."

Yet Flynn saw nothing.

Nothing.

Still no--

There!

"I think we ought to go find shelter," Weiss whispered. The area around them was already deserted, and wind hissed unpleasant things across their faces and into their ears. Those who resided in tents would flood the atriums of commorancy buildings, migrating as far away inland as they could. No one would be standing this close to the ocean. No one wanted to die. And once the lightning started...

But Flynn didn't care.

"Juan!" he shouted, as soon as his friend's feet clattered onto the dock. "Juan!"

///

"Juan!" It was more of a panicked than joyous cry.

Juan supposed that might have to do with his appearance: he was soaked red from top to bottom, a new smelly spot of rain obscuring his eyes with every movement, no matter how slight. Too bad--he hadn't had the time to clean up.

"Sorry, brother," he mumbled.

Squinting, he looked up, shielding his eyes with a hand. Flynn really was walking toward him, waving, flanked by two men in grey suits, one of whom he vaguely recognized as the Weather Man. The sky really was about to burst, and the plastic toy he held behind his back really was a laser gun.

"The pluggers almost got me," Juan whispered. He knew Flynn was too far to hear, but he addressed him anyway. "The needle grazed my neck." Flynn stilled five feet away. Juan was shaking, and as he realized it, he only started shaking more. He raised his hand, the very hand he'd used to guard his neck against the pluggers, his free hand, and ran it behind his head, coating his fingernails in film. Then he erased the thin trickle of black that had escaped his lips.

"Juan, are you okay? Are you okay?" Flynn was at arm's length now, but Juan made no reply, eyes, dull and blank, resting on Weiss.

Definitely not okay.

"Do you know what plugged people see?" Juan had a hollow for a face.

"Listen--"

"There's a way out. A real way out. I see it. I get it. Angelle's not gone. I can see her--everyone! I don't need to miss anything!"

"Juan--"

"Flynn, get away! You're not ready for a Retrial!" Weiss's voice, frantic now, coming closer. The Weather Man was ominously silent.

A rotation of pluggers appeared on the horizon.

Juan saw them coming and smiled. "I have a faster way of getting you to the South Side, Flynn."

Aiming.

"Listen to me!" Flynn shrieked. "You have to listen to me! Don't--"

Pulling the trigger.

For a moment, Flynn's forehead swelled, boiled, melted. Swirled itself into soup. He managed a short, shrill scream--or maybe that scream belonged to Weiss.

Next moment he'd vanished.