Pretty Dead City When he forgot himself and said, "What if we never get out of here?" and JC decked him, Chris knew that he really was in hell and that he deserved it.
He curled up on the cold, dusty sidewalk and held his hands over his bleeding nose, expecting a kick in the stomach.
When nothing happened, he looked up. Joey was trying to hug JC, but JC was backing off, batting at his hands. He wasn't even trying to wipe the tears off his face. Chris had never seen JC cry this shamelessly before, crying like a child without hiding his face. He didn't look angry anymore.
Justin and Lance were still standing in the shadow of the doorway, frozen and confused.
Chris made a painful movement to uncurl his body from its tight, panicky fetal position. Justin came to life and rushed to his side. Chris welcomed his hands and his concern and thought about himself again and not about JC's pale, furious face and the fist coming out of nowhere.
"He doesn't hate you," Justin mumbled, "I think."
"Do you?" Chris asked. Justin handed him a crumpled paper tissue and didn't answer.
They started walking again. Chris stayed a bit behind. He wanted to ask them what the hell they thought they were doing here. Where the hell they thought they were going, but he didn't think that would go over well, so he walked and breathed the dead air and stared at the cracks in the pavement. Sometimes he caught things moving from the corners of his eyes, but when he turned to look, the buildings were blind and deaf and mute and everything was so quiet. His footsteps sounded dull, and at one point, when he'd stopped to look over his shoulder, the sounds of the others faded, too quickly, too completely, and he looked ahead and saw that they were almost half a block away. He ran to catch up and it felt like running a marathon; when he reached them he was out of breath and his legs felt weak and shivery.
"What the hell are you doing?" Lance asked, irritably. Chris sucked in breath after painful breath and said,
"There's something fucked up with this place."
Lance looked at him in disgust and shook his head.
The light never changed. He couldn't tell how long they'd been walking. His shadow was a blurry spot of not-quite-darkness right underneath him, just like it was when he first opened his eyes and pulled in the first breath of still air and thought, predictably, I guess we're not in Kansas anymore. He'd looked around and met Justin's eyes and seen Justin mouth Dorothy back at him.
He'd been so relieved to have them all there, then. They'd hugged and said things like, "Thank God you're here. What happened?" and "At least I'm not alone."
Now they'd stopped touching and they all walked with gaping empty space between each other.
Joey fell and didn't get up again. They circled him and no one did anything. He was gasping like a fish on dry land and his eyes were rolling up, showing nothing but the whites. Finally, Lance knelt and touched his face carefully.
"Joey?" he said, and his voice was a dry whisper in the dead air.
Joey panted helplessly and reached up and grabbed Lance's hand, so hard that Chris could see his knuckles whitening. "Fuck," he whispered, "Fuck, I can't breathe--"
"Please," Lance whispered and Joey held his hand and tried to breathe, and the rest of them stood quietly around them. Chris caught JC staring at him, staring violently, with his hands curled into fists by his sides.
"I'm better," Joey said after a while. "Fuck, that was some scary shit. It was like the air was too thin or something. Felt like I was dying. I didn't think I was in this lousy shape."
"I don't think you are," Lance said. Chris wanted to yell at them, "can't you SEE what it's doing? Can't you see this place is dead?" but it wouldn't accomplish anything, and he thought maybe they already did see.
"Maybe we should rest," JC said. No one argued.
Chris awoke with a start and realised that someone was screaming, had been for a while. It sounded like it was coming from far off in the distance, but when he looked around, he saw that it was Justin, and Justin was right beside him, maybe two feet away. He was screaming like he was dying, but the sound was scratchy and muted.
When Chris touched him, he jerked upright and shut up immediately, like someone clapped a hand over his mouth. His eyes were wide, showing too much white. He was shivering.
"Nightmare?" Chris asked.
"Nightmare," Justin said. "Holy fuck. Holy fuck." He rubbed both his hands over his face.
They sat quietly for a while. Chris looked up, and the sky looked exactly the same as it had ever since they got here. He couldn't tell where the sun was. If it was there in the first place. It was cold, but not freezing. There was no wind. The buildings rose silent and stern towards the hazy grey above. Vaguely familiar buildings. Vaguely familiar streets. They were huddled under the awning of a restaurant called Vito's. It was a pizzeria. Chris could see the merry green, white and red interior through the window.
"What do you think happened?" Justin asked suddenly. He was sitting with his back against the wall now, his feet pulled up and his arms on his knees.
"I don't know," Chris said, but he was lying, he thought. He had felt...something. He felt it pass through him, and he knew it was his fault somehow. He did it. But there was no point rubbing that in, making Justin hate him more. Maybe he was full of shit, anyway. Maybe it was all just a big, cosmic accident. It probably was. Way to overestimate your own importance, Kirkpatrick.
"It felt like...I don't know. It sounds stupid," Justin said. "Like we were sucked into a parallel universe. How dumb is that?"
"Well, look around," Chris said.
"You did something."
"I don't know," Chris said warily.
"No, like, you did something," Justin said stubbornly. "Maybe you could...do it again?" He looked tired and beaten and, yet, just a little hopeful, like he was putting his last money on Chris. Chris felt like the biggest jerk in the universe. Of course, given that they seemed to be the only inhabitants of this particular universe, he probably was.
"Maybe," Chris said, because he couldn't bear to stub out the hope. "Maybe I can figure it out."
Justin crawled closer and leaned his head against Chris' shoulder. "It could be worse," he said.
Chris had to laugh. It sounded more like a cough, but he pretended it was a real laugh. "How could it be worse?" he asked. Justin was the only warm thing in this world; real human warmth, and Chris wondered why they were all so far away from each other. JC lay curled up next to the wall, as if he wanted to melt into it. Joey leaned against the steps like he'd just passed out. He'd hurt in the...well, morning, for lack of a better word, but there was really no way of telling what time of day it was. Lance had found an old newspaper and pulled it over his head. He looked like a hobo. Chris supposed that's what they were now. Homeless and hopeless and lost. He looked out at the street again. They'd been on this street before. It had been sunny and beautiful, and the wind had kissed his face and there had been pretty girls to look at and cool bikes to circle and hmmm at with Justin.
"We could be dead," Justin said and Chris wrapped his arms around him and pressed his face against the side of his neck. Justin let him.
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