measured by nights » holes

5.

It was a stupid plan, he realized, half an hour later, as he trudged across the dry lake bed, the crashed water truck far behind him.

A really, really stupid plan, because now even if he did find Zero how was he supposed to help him? He had no food, no water. No nothing.

He was an idiot.

As he walked he thought about Pendanski, and how he would like to kill him. He thought about the sound Zero's shovel had made when it hit the counselor across the face. He hated Pendanski with every fiber of his being. He hated him for what he'd done to Zero.

Stanley wasn't sure how much longer he could keep walking. He knew he would have to go back, eventually, but every time he thought about turning around something spurred him on, forced him to go that bit further.

He found an empty sunflower seed sack, and clutched it as if it was a lifeline.

He walked on.

When he finally found the boat, each breath burned painfully in his lungs, and each footfall jarred his tired legs.

When Zero crawled out from under the boat, Stanley forgot to breathe altogether.

And then Zero was right there, and Stanley closed his eyes and held him tight.

Zero was dying.

He had collapsed near the top of the mountain, and now Stanley was carrying him over one shoulder. The air was thick and heavy, and it smelt rotten.

Stanley didn't think he would be able to make it to the top of God's Thumb. He didn't think he had the strength.

Yet he kept on climbing, and when he finally did collapse it was to fall into a puddle of mud.

Cool, wet mud.

They survived on muddy water and onions for days, so many days that Stanley lost track of the nights, and when they finally returned to camp he had no idea which night it was.

He felt Zero's anxiety as they neared the camp grounds, and reached out for his hand, squeezing it tight.

"It's okay," he said, and he remembered saying it too that first night. The first night he helped Zero.

Zero nodded, squeezed Stanley's hand and raised his chin.

They had one more hole to dig.