Trois had just said he could tag along, didn't even need to apologise. Of course, an apology was probably still a good direction to take. Honey would see how he felt when he caught up with him, and at least he had time to rehearse what he wanted to say.
Meanwhile, Trois had taken to wandering aimlessly, not sure which direction to take. After all, they'd searched every part of the school they'd been able to, or at least he had. There had been plenty of doors that simply wouldn't open. Some wouldn't even rattle, like they weren't locked, rather that they weren't even real doors. Honestly, though, Honey could get so unattractive when he went off on one like that. All that screaming, his face twisting in anger...he needed to be more careful, or he would end up with a major frown line problem. Although, to an extent, Trois did understand and did feel just a little bit bad - if Honey really had been attacked, and really had narrowly escaped death, of course he would be upset. It still didn't totally excuse that outburst, but it did make it a bit easier to understand. Still, it wasn't worth dwelling on it. They'd separated now, Honey's choice, and at the very least that meant they could cover more ground. There was a chance that while they'd been wandering all over the place, they'd been walking right past other people from Nanba, and splitting up gave them a bit more of a chance to run into someone. Trois was tempted to call out, just to see if anyone was nearby, when the next earthquake started.
This one was probably the strongest he'd experienced so far. The shaking was too violent for him to have any chance of keeping his balance, and he landed hard on his backside. His instinct was to brace himself, put his arms out, find something to hang on to, but there wasn't anything nearby that he could grab. He settled with bracing one hand against the floor so he could at least sit up straight, and throwing the other protectively over his head. After all, if something fell, better that it broke his arm than his skull. Turns out he needn't have worried. It wasn't the ceiling above him that was about to give out.
Not for the first time that day (or, well, he assumed it was all the same 24 hours), Trois felt himself falling. The floor just seemed to shatter beneath him, cracking until it was in pieces and he was falling in a rain of splinters. He couldn't see what was below him, and for some reason, the first coherent thought his panicked mind gave him was 'it's like the fall reflex when you're about to fall asleep', followed by 'this will break my spine'. He didn't have time to consider anything further, because it was at that point that he hit the water.
Water?
There was a pool of some kind under the floor! He kicked to the surface, eyes shut the whole way, and took a breath of fresh air. When he opened his eyes, he found he'd fallen right by a wall. A mud wall, and the floor he'd fallen through was about as far up as he expected. He couldn't climb up a featureless wall all the way up there, and...and this wasn't water. It obviously wasn't water. It was black, and thick and heavy. It actively felt like it was dragging him under. He'd not been treading water for that long at all, and he was already awfully tired. It was like this was clinging to him, and it was moving independently to his own movements. Like it was alive. And as he was taking time to figure out what it was and how he was going to get out, he was sinking lower and lower!
Turn. He had to turn. He was only facing the closest wall. There had to be a way out of this pool on the other side. He pulled his arms out, pressed them against the wall to push away...and as he turned, he saw the bugs on his arm, on his hand. Felt them crawling over his skin.
As he screamed, he went under. This was the worst. It was worse than the bodies. The bodies were bad, but he wasn't submerged in them, and he hated bugs. This was a nightmare, and they were all over him. He kicked back to the surface, panicking now. Hyperventilating. Still screaming. They were on his glasses, blocking his vision, they'd dragged the remains of the floor right under. And he was next. They were all over his limbs, it was hard to swim. It was hard to kick, hard to pull, every time he lifted his arm out, a mountain of bugs came with it. He'd turned, in the distance he could see a shore. A floor, a rope ladder, something to aim for that wouldn't pull him down into a sea of noisy, chattering insects. He couldn't stand the sound, the feel, their legs crawling over his skin. He couldn't keep his mouth above the pit. He needed it open to breathe, but now it was full of these little beasts. He spat, tried to breathe again, started to cough and choke as he inhaled them. No, no, he was going to be sick, if he even survived this. Scream, breathe, kick, pull, dip under and kick up again. His fingertips brushed against something wet, but he didn't have enough brain power to spare to consider what it was. Everything was focused on the bugs and the possibility he might die being drowned in bugs, actual living bugs. They were biting him and crawling all over him and he could feel it and he was screaming, he couldn't stand it, he could not begin to describe how much he just hated bugs! It wasn't getting any shallower as he neared the edge, either. Desperate, he reached for the shore. His fingertips brushed against the dirt and he went under once more. Just one more stroke and he would be there. One more stroke and he would be out. He was under still, couldn't breathe, they were crawling up his nose! And then he kicked himself head first into the wall, scrabbled upwards, feeling his way until he grabbed hold of the ledge. His hands were bleeding where the masses of bugs were biting at him, but he gripped the edge as hard as he could and hauled himself out with all his strength. They stuck to him, weighed him down, tried to keep him in, but he had enough strength to pull, pull until he could hook his knee over the ledge and roll himself out onto the shore. Trois wanted to take a moment to get his breath back, but he really couldn't. He shot to his feet, brushing the bugs off him as best he could, frantically batting at everything he could reach and getting as far from the pit as he could. He threw his tool belt and his glasses down - his vision wasn't too bad without them, and he would rather not have them on when they were covered in flesh-eating insects - and when he was sure he was as clear as he was going to get, he ran to the ladder and heaved himself up as fast as he could. Trois got just a few steps from the ladder before his legs gave out. He was tired and freaking out, he couldn't do this any more. He couldn't take any more.
After a while of just sitting there trying to pull himself together, his ears tuned into a sound. It was someone calling his name. It was soft, and distant, but it was his name! It was his name and in a familiar voice!
"Honey?" He called back, slowly getting to his feet. "Honey? Is that you?"
"Trois!" The voice called back, as if he'd not been heard.
"Honey, stay there, I'll come and find you!" He promised, heading off in the direction he was certain the voice was coming from.
When Honey had gone back to find Trois, he'd quickly found himself met with a dead end. Near where they had split up, the floor had fallen out. Down below, he couldn't see the next floor down, and there was no way he'd be able to jump the gap - Not even a 7" 5 time long jump champion could clear that gap. So he had to find another way around. Only, the hole he left behind carried a smell of death with it. He couldn't see inside it, and he was sure Trois had already walked beyond that point, unless he'd come back searching for Honey himself, so why was he worried? It wasn't like all the people who died down that hole fell to their deaths, and it wasn't like Trois was down there.
The next period of time was a bit of a blur. He was rushing, trying to cover as much ground as he could, calling for his cellmate. He had no idea how long this happened for. He could have been searching for seconds, minutes, hours...and he didn't remember any of it properly. He'd been in such a panicked, irrational rush that he must not have been taking in his surroundings properly, and when he came to his senses, he was standing on the third floor, right outside the bathrooms. For a moment, he just stood, confused, and then he saw a flash of silver on the ground. A small metal plate, no bigger than his palm. It had some threads stuck to it, as though it had been torn quite carelessly from someone's clothing. Honey flipped the thing over, and saw a number engraved into it.
0303
That was not a good sign. Trois' jumpsuit had been torn. Was this sign of a struggle? The plate was between the male and female bathrooms, but closer to the female's. Placing the plate in his pocket, Honey edged the door open and slipped inside.
"Trois? Are you in here?" He asked, walking over to the third stall. The third specifically, because just outside the stall sat one of Trois' shoes. He'd definitely been struggling against something. Hesitantly, he knocked, and called again.
Still no answer. Well, he could hear something, but it wasn't a yes or a no. It sounded like...ugly crying. Or an asthma attack. He pushed the door, and found it wasn't locked. It opened a little, then caught on something. He pushed harder, and finally got the door open. The sight that met him was worse than he could have expected.
There was Trois, hanging by his neck. The noose holding him went all the way up to the ceiling, and more rope was wrapped around his wrists. His face was coated in tears and drool, but he was still alive. He was gripping the rope around his neck, kicking and struggling in a fruitless attempt to pull himself up and release the pressure on his windpipe. When he saw Honey in front of him, he tried to speak.
"Srr...srrrghk...srr...hee..." Was...was he trying to apologise? For what, the fight? But it had been Honey in the wrong! Was he panicking because someone had attacked him and put him in this position?
Honey needed to get him down. "It's okay, Trois!" He shouted, echoing his cellmate's words from earlier as he tried to move in closer. "It's going to be okay! Don't say any more, it's going to be okay!" When he got closer, Trois' struggled seemed to get more frantic, but he managed to get a grip on those flailing legs. "I'll get you out of here!" It was a promise. There was no way he was going to let Trois die. Not a chance in hell! He braced his shoulder underneath the body and tried to lift him, but his injured ankle and burnt hands protested the touch, the weight, the motion. Pain flared, and his ankle gave out. He tumbled to the ground and flinched at the sound from Trois' throat as he accidentally pulled him down again. The rope was cutting into his neck, he couldn't breathe...Honey couldn't lift him, he had to do something else. Anything else!
The bucket outside the classroom they woke up in! Trois could stand on that, or on one of the chairs from a closer classroom! "I'll get something for you to stand on!" Honey promised, hobbling out of the room as fast as he could, trying not to listen to the horrible sound of someone getting the life choked out of him.
Honey went into the first classroom he came across and grabbed the chair closest to the door, trying to drag it to the door. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to drag it up the stairs in time, but he had to try. Only...the damn chair wouldn't budge an inch! No matter how hard he pulled, it wouldn't move! It was like it was completely stuck to the floor! "No! Come on! Please!" This wasn't going to work. He had to go for the bucket. He should have gone straight to the fucking bucket!
The bucket contained a yellow, congealed liquid. It probably was urine, but Honey frankly had more important things to worry about. He picked the bucket up and dumped the contents, pulling a face when the probably piss touched his hands (and god did it sting) and shoes. It was disgusting, but for the time being, it was necessary. He could worry about the hygiene aspect of things and freak out over the fact that he'd touched someone else's piss after he'd saved Trois. He ran back up to the bathroom, or he tried to run, holding onto the bucket for dear life. This disgusting thing really was a lifeline now, after all. When he burst back into the bathroom, he made straight for the third stall, planning to lay the bucket straight at Trois' feet.
"Here! I got something for you to stand on, just put your feet on it! It's going to be okay, you're going to be okay now!" He looked up to his cellmate's face, and realised he wasn't struggling any more. In fact, he wasn't moving at all any more. No. Nononononononono, this couldn't be right, he couldn't be too late. The bucket slipped from his grip and he tugged weakly at Trois' leg.
"Hey...wake up...this isn't funny! You have to be okay! Wake up!" His eyes were open and unseeing. This wasn't right. This wasn't fair! He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't be. Not after all of this. Not after all they'd seen here and been through, because they were going to get out of this together, because Honey had promised he would get Trois out of there. He'd promised! And he'd still not apologised for freaking out earlier. He didn't want to be alone, and he didn't want to see anyone die, but there wasn't anything he could do about it. Trois was dead. He was really dead, right in front of him, hanging from the ceiling and beyond help. Nobody else was here, either. Nobody except the person who had tied him up and decided to kill him.
Honey was going to die here. He was going to die alone and scared and miserable, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was going to be murdered, just like Trois had been. He didn't know what else to do, couldn't think straight any more, and just...screamed.
It was a scream that was heard some distance away, in one of the classrooms, by another group from Nanba Prison.
((Please note - further chapters may be delayed due to a problem with my internet router))
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