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elisheva_mA short story. Comments welcome. This version is an attempt to give more interiority to the characters, albeit through external indications than inner thoughts because of their situation. I feel it's become too soft in the process just through the added detail. A partial return to the earlier, starker version is above.
Two men cautiously enter an abandoned industrial building. One leans heavily on the other, unable to bear his weight on an injured leg.
The healthy man looks around and spots stairs in the corner. "Over there." He speaks in hushed tones, alert to the danger they are in. Together they make their way across the floor and slowly climb, one cautious step at a time.
He guides his companion to a closed off area on the upper floor and helps him sit. The injured man grimaces in pain but remains silent.
"Wait here. I'll find somewhere more secure." He leaves the space and walks warily around the open area, scanning the room, all shadows and the white blue glare of industrial lighting filtering through the grime on the windows. He picks up a metal pipe.
In a dark corner he spots a ladder bolted onto the wall. Some rungs are damaged by rust but he finds enough are sound he can climb to a hatch in the ceiling.
The hatch sticks briefly before it opens. Two more rungs and he's able to look around the space above it. The only light comes through vented windows. The air is stale and close but this will do. He lays the pipe on the attic floor.
He gingerly makes his way back down and across the open area to his companion. "Come," he says gently. "One more push and you can rest." He kneels next to him and puts an arm under his shoulders to help him stand. The injured man nods weakly, then leans against him for a moment before rising.
"It's in that corner." The healthy man nods in the direction they need to go. "You can do it." They cross to the ladder, their progress slowed as they negotiate their way around accumulated debris. "Up there. We'll be safe." Then, "lean against me. I'll brace you." He moves behind the injured man. They both take hold of the sides of the ladder. Digging deep within himself, the injured man hauls himself up, rung by rung, his companion steadying and lifting him.
A rusted rung gives way. "I've got you," he says.
They complete their climb. The injured man collapses on the floor of the attic. His breath is unsteady, his voice shaky. "I won't be doing that again."
His companion holds onto him. "I'll take care of you," he whispers.
The healthy man lowers the hatch back into place and moves a large heavy box over it. He hopes it and the broken rungs will be enough deterrence if anyone comes looking.
He works quickly to clear a small area in a dark corner far from the hatch, piling the debris which had been there around it. He flinches with every scrape on the floor, every noise that might tell listening ears where they are.
He returns to the injured man and helps him stand again. "This is it. You can do it." He looks at the low haphazard barrier of debris he's made. It's small camouflage but perhaps it will be enough.
The injured man is too weak to walk. His companion gathers his own strength, then lifts him on his back to take him there.
In the corner, he lowers the injured man to the ground near the wall. He sits behind him, cradling him against his chest. "Water. You need to drink." He takes a small bottle from a pocket of his jacket and helps his companion sip from it. It is all they have, the contents of his hip flask sacrificed to clean his companion's wounded leg.
They sit quietly in the darkness. "We're safe," he whispers. "We're safe."
He is exhausted and depleted too, frightened of what they have faced and how much they don't know. For now he'll be the one who holds strong. He has to. For him.
His companion slumps and nods as he surrenders to the deepness of his fatigue. The healthy man helps him lay down and folds his jacket into a pillow for him, gently easing it under his head. He lays next to him, close enough to touch. He reaches a hand out for reassurance. His companion is already asleep.
When he wakes the next day, shafts of sunlight come through the window vents. He guesses that it's mid day. His companion's breathing is shallow in the stagnant air. He checks the makeshift bandages on the injured man's leg. Everything seems to be in place. He lays back down next to him to rest and wait.
The angle of the sun shafts indicates it's a few hours later. The injured man wakes and watches his companion sleeping fitfully. They have been through so much together.
His movement rouses the other man. They look at each other for a long moment in the dim shadowed light of the corner.
"How do you feel?"
"Been through worse." His voice is rough and full of gravel.
"I'll get you some painkillers when I go out."
"Don't take the chance, I'll manage."
"We need food. And antiseptic. I'll go. When it's dark."
He crawls back to lean against the wall and cradle his companion against himself, hands over hands. They watch the sun shafts in silence. He tries to relax, to communicate security to the man in his arms. He is listening for danger in every creak of the building, in every noise outside.
The white blue glare of the industrial lights has returned when they wake again. There will never be enough sleep. The healthy man checks for his wallet in his back pocket. "Don't go," his companion says quietly.
"We've not eaten since yesterday. I have to," he replies. "I might be a bit of time. Better to go to a shop farther away." He does not take his jacket. It's not a disguise but it's the only difference he can make to his appearance.
At the hatch, he finds the pipe he had placed there before. He glances back at his companion. He won't be able to defend himself anyway. Best to leave it there. He's scared enough already.
The healthy man makes his way to the door of the building and listens. It seems still and quiet. He slides out and quickly darts into the alley, hiding in the darkness. He waits, but no one shows himself. He decides it's safe enough to leave his companion alone and slips down the alley. He takes narrow back lanes and side streets until he has to emerge to enter a shop. Inside he buys food, water, toilet roll, antiseptic, bandages, painkillers and two brimmed baseball caps. The bored clerk barely looks up from his phone as he shoves the goods into two carrier bags.
Back in the alley outside the abandoned building, the healthy man waits and listens before entering. He looks around the ground floor again and considers the pros and cons of leaning a piece of wood against the door as a makeshift alarm. They wouldn't hear it in the attic, he decides, and it might raise suspicions. He leaves it alone and returns up the ladder.
"It's me," he says as he lifts the hatch. He moves the heavy box back over it and picks up the pipe.
The injured man is weak. He helps him sit up. "This will make you feel better," he says, giving him a painkiller and helping him with the water. "Food too."
"I'm glad you're back," his companion murmurs.
He holds him close in the faint white blue light. He has become so vulnerable.
They wake earlier the next day. The healthy man goes to the window vents and looks out. He decides it's worth the risk to move his companion to the better light to dress his wound. He breathes the fresher air. This will help.
The injured man is looking at him from the corner.
He goes back over to him. "Are you up to walking?" he asks. "Some movement will do you good."
"Yes. I've not seen your face clearly since we came here."
Together they walk to the window vents. The healthy man helps his companion sit and lean against the wall under them. His companion reaches out to touch his face, slats of sunlight across it. "It's good to see you again."
He holds his companion's hand there. He wants to be weak, just for a moment, but there are still things to do. "I'm here," he says.
He goes back to their corner to get the carrier bags with the rest of the food, water and medical supplies. They need to eat, to drink. He examines the bandages on his companion's leg before he unwraps them. He hopes that it didn't bleed through to leave a trace to their hiding place.
His companion is watching his face, trying to read his worries. "It looks alright. Let's get this sorted properly," he tells him.
He tenderly cleans the wound and re-bandages it with the supplies he bought. "There you go."
He looks at his companion. They smile gently at each other through the dusty haze of slatted sunlight. Maybe this will be alright after all.
The day is spent mostly in silence, observing the sun move and listening to the sounds on the broken edge of the city and each other's breathing. It is enough to be together and to rest here awhile. The injured man lays back down, his head in his companion's lap. From here he can watch his partner's face as he strokes his hair. It is enough.
Two men cautiously enter an abandoned industrial building. One leans heavily on the other, unable to bear his weight on an injured leg.
The healthy man looks around and spots stairs in the corner. "Over there." He speaks in hushed tones, alert to the danger they are in. Together they make their way across the floor and slowly climb, one cautious step at a time.
He guides his companion to a closed off area on the upper floor and helps him sit. The injured man grimaces in pain but remains silent.
"Wait here. I'll find somewhere more secure." He leaves the space and walks warily around the open area, scanning the room, all shadows and the white blue glare of industrial lighting filtering through the grime on the windows. He picks up a metal pipe.
In a dark corner he spots a ladder bolted onto the wall. Some rungs are damaged by rust but he finds enough are sound he can climb to a hatch in the ceiling.
The hatch sticks briefly before it opens. Two more rungs and he's able to look around the space above it. The only light comes through vented windows. The air is stale and close but this will do. He lays the pipe on the attic floor.
He gingerly makes his way back down and across the open area to his companion. "Come," he says gently. "One more push and you can rest." He kneels next to him and puts an arm under his shoulders to help him stand. The injured man nods weakly, then leans against him for a moment before rising.
"It's in that corner." The healthy man nods in the direction they need to go. "You can do it." They cross to the ladder, their progress slowed as they negotiate their way around accumulated debris. "Up there. We'll be safe." Then, "lean against me. I'll brace you." He moves behind the injured man. They both take hold of the sides of the ladder. Digging deep within himself, the injured man hauls himself up, rung by rung, his companion steadying and lifting him.
A rusted rung gives way. "I've got you," he says.
They complete their climb. The injured man collapses on the floor of the attic. His breath is unsteady, his voice shaky. "I won't be doing that again."
His companion holds onto him. "I'll take care of you," he whispers.
The healthy man lowers the hatch back into place and moves a large heavy box over it. He hopes it and the broken rungs will be enough deterrence if anyone comes looking.
He works quickly to clear a small area in a dark corner far from the hatch, piling the debris which had been there around it. He flinches with every scrape on the floor, every noise that might tell listening ears where they are.
He returns to the injured man and helps him stand again. "This is it. You can do it." He looks at the low haphazard barrier of debris he's made. It's small camouflage but perhaps it will be enough.
The injured man is too weak to walk. His companion gathers his own strength, then lifts him on his back to take him there.
In the corner, he lowers the injured man to the ground near the wall. He sits behind him, cradling him against his chest. "Water. You need to drink." He takes a small bottle from a pocket of his jacket and helps his companion sip from it. It is all they have, the contents of his hip flask sacrificed to clean his companion's wounded leg.
They sit quietly in the darkness. "We're safe," he whispers. "We're safe."
He is exhausted and depleted too, frightened of what they have faced and how much they don't know. For now he'll be the one who holds strong. He has to. For him.
His companion slumps and nods as he surrenders to the deepness of his fatigue. The healthy man helps him lay down and folds his jacket into a pillow for him, gently easing it under his head. He lays next to him, close enough to touch. He reaches a hand out for reassurance. His companion is already asleep.
When he wakes the next day, shafts of sunlight come through the window vents. He guesses that it's mid day. His companion's breathing is shallow in the stagnant air. He checks the makeshift bandages on the injured man's leg. Everything seems to be in place. He lays back down next to him to rest and wait.
The angle of the sun shafts indicates it's a few hours later. The injured man wakes and watches his companion sleeping fitfully. They have been through so much together.
His movement rouses the other man. They look at each other for a long moment in the dim shadowed light of the corner.
"How do you feel?"
"Been through worse." His voice is rough and full of gravel.
"I'll get you some painkillers when I go out."
"Don't take the chance, I'll manage."
"We need food. And antiseptic. I'll go. When it's dark."
He crawls back to lean against the wall and cradle his companion against himself, hands over hands. They watch the sun shafts in silence. He tries to relax, to communicate security to the man in his arms. He is listening for danger in every creak of the building, in every noise outside.
The white blue glare of the industrial lights has returned when they wake again. There will never be enough sleep. The healthy man checks for his wallet in his back pocket. "Don't go," his companion says quietly.
"We've not eaten since yesterday. I have to," he replies. "I might be a bit of time. Better to go to a shop farther away." He does not take his jacket. It's not a disguise but it's the only difference he can make to his appearance.
At the hatch, he finds the pipe he had placed there before. He glances back at his companion. He won't be able to defend himself anyway. Best to leave it there. He's scared enough already.
The healthy man makes his way to the door of the building and listens. It seems still and quiet. He slides out and quickly darts into the alley, hiding in the darkness. He waits, but no one shows himself. He decides it's safe enough to leave his companion alone and slips down the alley. He takes narrow back lanes and side streets until he has to emerge to enter a shop. Inside he buys food, water, toilet roll, antiseptic, bandages, painkillers and two brimmed baseball caps. The bored clerk barely looks up from his phone as he shoves the goods into two carrier bags.
Back in the alley outside the abandoned building, the healthy man waits and listens before entering. He looks around the ground floor again and considers the pros and cons of leaning a piece of wood against the door as a makeshift alarm. They wouldn't hear it in the attic, he decides, and it might raise suspicions. He leaves it alone and returns up the ladder.
"It's me," he says as he lifts the hatch. He moves the heavy box back over it and picks up the pipe.
The injured man is weak. He helps him sit up. "This will make you feel better," he says, giving him a painkiller and helping him with the water. "Food too."
"I'm glad you're back," his companion murmurs.
He holds him close in the faint white blue light. He has become so vulnerable.
They wake earlier the next day. The healthy man goes to the window vents and looks out. He decides it's worth the risk to move his companion to the better light to dress his wound. He breathes the fresher air. This will help.
The injured man is looking at him from the corner.
He goes back over to him. "Are you up to walking?" he asks. "Some movement will do you good."
"Yes. I've not seen your face clearly since we came here."
Together they walk to the window vents. The healthy man helps his companion sit and lean against the wall under them. His companion reaches out to touch his face, slats of sunlight across it. "It's good to see you again."
He holds his companion's hand there. He wants to be weak, just for a moment, but there are still things to do. "I'm here," he says.
He goes back to their corner to get the carrier bags with the rest of the food, water and medical supplies. They need to eat, to drink. He examines the bandages on his companion's leg before he unwraps them. He hopes that it didn't bleed through to leave a trace to their hiding place.
His companion is watching his face, trying to read his worries. "It looks alright. Let's get this sorted properly," he tells him.
He tenderly cleans the wound and re-bandages it with the supplies he bought. "There you go."
He looks at his companion. They smile gently at each other through the dusty haze of slatted sunlight. Maybe this will be alright after all.
The day is spent mostly in silence, observing the sun move and listening to the sounds on the broken edge of the city and each other's breathing. It is enough to be together and to rest here awhile. The injured man lays back down, his head in his companion's lap. From here he can watch his partner's face as he strokes his hair. It is enough.
