Cancer Towers on Holy Road Hi-Way

[Skraal]

((Bill Dover continued from Skin Feels Off))

Bill sat at the edge of the cliff, staring off into the darkness, surrounded by two duffel bags, the tangible reminder of his own failure to find Drew. For all he knew, the guy could have been dead by now, all because Bill was too fat to catch up with a guy who was stumbling around bleeding from a gaping bullet wound. He knew he wouldn't be of much help to anyone here but this...this was pathetic.

A few moments passed before he finally tore his eyes away from the abyss before him and turned instead to look at the stranger's duffel bag. His gaze lingered on it as the temptation to look inside it hit him for the dozenth time, tearing its way through his mind. On one hand, there was no harm in just taking a look, but on the other, actually treating the bag as if it was his property felt almost like an acceptance of the fact that it would never make its way back to its owner. He was going to return it, wasn't he?

Sighing, he slowly unzipped the bag and began rifling through it. It had all the standard stuff that he had in his bag, though that was hardly unexpected. As for the weapon...he paused for a second as his fingers closed around something metallic, which he promptly drew out of the bag and examined as best he could given the lack of light. He could almost taste the irony of spiked gloves, a weapon intended of fist-fighting, ending up in the hands of one of the least physically capable students at GHHS.

Now, at even more of a loss for what to do that he was this morning, he closed his eyes and did the only thing that he could think of, something that he probably should have done a while ago. His voice came out soft and hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

"Lord, I don't know what Your plan is here, but I guess...I guess I don't really have any choice but to trust You here. I'm not sure if helping us all get a rescue is too much to ask, but at least, could You please keep Drew safe until I can find him again? I don't know what I would do if he...if something terrible happened to him because he didn't have his stuff with him. "

He swallowed hard, pausing for a second before continuing.

"Please comfort my family, too. I know they're probably going through a really hard time now. I know I'm probably... not going to be here much longer, so please help them not to feel too bad when I'm gone."

Another pause.

"Uh, I guess this is the part where I would normally thank you for stuff, but I'd appreciate if You could forgive me for not feeling very thankful for anything right now..."

A small choking sound forced its way out of his throat. He couldn't continue. The best he could do was pull up his knees and rest his now tear-stained cheeks on them, feeling even more alone than before he had before he started talking.

((Bill Dover continued in We Drift Like Worried Fire))