[flashback] in the bleak midwinter long ago

[2goodarms]

The materials started coming in from the Front last week, a few days after the protein blocks: boards, risers, gym mats, army blankets, rolls of fabric that might have been curtains or carpeting. They've been putting together bunks, stacks of them, under the direction of the armed guards.

By unspoken common consensus, the very end of the last car gets curtained off for Gilliam and the others recovering from their voluntary amputation, and the first makeshift pallets are carried back to them.

The work shift is over for the day, and protein blocks are being distributed. Under a guard's watchful eye, one person -- a different one each day -- is tapped to bring food to those who can't walk out to get it for themselves.

Today it's Curtis.

The cloth pulled tight around his right arm used to be a bandana. The wound beneath it split open again last night; he hasn't been able to stop picking at it. Before, a cut like this might've meant stitches. Now it just means pain biting his arm as he cradles the protein blocks to his chest.

Curtis doesn't look up. Nobody looks at him. They part like the Red Sea when he moves, like the train cleaving through the ice. Even in this small space, they find room to get out of the way.

They still wonder if he's got a knife.

He stops in front of the curtains, exchanging an uneasy glance with the guard.

Comments

[snowpiercer_npcs]

The guard pauses for several seconds, counting the protein blocks in his hands, then nods and tips his head toward the entrance.

It's darker inside the curtained-off area, slightly stuffier without being any warmer. Four pallets are laid down; three men lie on theirs, blankets drawn up over themselves, asleep.

On the fourth pallet, Gilliam is sitting up with a ragged blanket around his shoulders and his back resting against the wall, eyes pained but still bright behind his glasses.

[2goodarms]

If they're asleep, that means they won't react to Curtis' arrival.

(It means he doesn't have to approach Gilliam right away.)

Slowly, a little stiffly, Curtis bends to place a single protein block beside each pallet. One. Two. Three.

The fourth block in both hands, he turns to Gilliam.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

Who looks up and smiles at him. "Hello, Curtis. Please, won't you sit down."

[2goodarms]

His throat bobs.

Curtis hasn't spoken much since the -- he doesn't know what to call it. The incident. Like that could even touch what happened. Few people talk to him anyway, so it's no big loss.

Gilliam's one of the few, though.

Still silent, he lowers himself to the floor. The cold radiating up from the metal doesn't feel as bad; maybe he's getting used to it, or maybe the blankets and pallets are insulating the space better than he expected.

Curtis shifts the protein block to his left hand and holds it out in offering.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

Gilliam straightens a little and reaches out his one good hand for the offered food; his arm is unsteady, but his fingers close firmly on the gelatinous brick. The effort is clearly tiring, and he sags back against the wall once he has it.

"Thank you," he -- wheezes, is probably the word for that voice, husky, near breathless. "Thank you, dear boy."

A beat.

"You've kept one for yourself, I hope?"

[2goodarms]

Curtis nods. Even croaks out a barely audible, "Yeah," after a moment.

It tasted awful. It made him wish, for a terrible moment, that he was eating something else instead.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"Good," the old man says gently, and only then pulls off a fragment of the block (now resting in his lap) to bring to his own mouth.

[2goodarms]

Curtis looks away, shame burning his face. One of the other amputees twitches in his sleep, making a noise that makes him want to heave.

Without thinking about it, he starts to rub at the bandage again.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"Curtis." His voice is still gentle, but there's mild reproof in it this time.

[2goodarms]

His hand tightens down on the bandage, as if to stem the bleeding -- but at least his hand stops moving.

Maybe it'll get infected. Gangrene, or something else bad enough to take off the whole limb. His arm won't go anywhere useful, but at least it'll be gone.



"Where'd they find all this stuff?" he mutters, without quite meeting Gilliam's eyes.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"It must have been on board the train to begin with," Gilliam muses, pulling off another wobbly fragment of protein block.  "Just ... not properly set up yet.  Or even in the right cars.  I wonder why."

[2goodarms]

Maybe they were working front to back. Maybe. But to have it take so long, to just leave them here with absolutely nothing as the people in charge worked their way through the train --

More pain twinges: this time under his breastbone, like a hot coal laid against the inside of his ribs. It burns cleaner than the guilt, lighter, brighter. It doesn't hurt as much to carry it.

Wilford did this to us.

His left hand takes up the slow movement against the bandage again. Still in a hoarse mutter, "Think the bunks are gonna be done in another week."

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"That's good," he murmurs. "Will there be enough?"

[2goodarms]

Curtis shrugs, awkwardly.

It doesn't look like it so far, but it's hard to judge how many bunks they'll be able to cram into the space. Maybe they could always turn some of the sheets into hammocks.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

"Well." He looks up at the curtain, as though looking through it, trying to gauge the space beyond. "We'll see if they bring us more supplies. And how well we can use what we have."

[2goodarms]

"I was thinking it might be easier to do hammocks."

Still kneading his arm; still not meeting Gilliam's eyes.

"Wouldn't need as much space or supplies."

[snowpiercer_npcs]

Gilliam pauses with another blob of protein pinched between two fingers halfway to his mouth, and gives him an appraising look.

"That might well work. If there's a sufficient amount of fabric sturdy enough to hold people's weight ..."

[2goodarms]

"Dunno about that." Again, the awkward hitch to one shoulder. "We could ask."

Now that there are people back here they can actually ask for stuff. Whether they'll listen? Who the fuck knows.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

He nods. And chews, carefully, thoroughly.

[2goodarms]

He should probably go. There's no point to staying now that he's dropped off the protein blocks.

But where the hell can he go? Back out into the main part of the car, with so many people milling around with nothing to do? Where he's got no chance of hiding?

Not like back here. Not where it's quiet, and -- for all intents and purposes -- it's just him and Gilliam.

So all Curtis does is shift, getting his feet under himself and sitting on his heels to give his ass a break from the cold metal.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

Gilliam glances at him as he shifts, and something warms in his face.

"It's good of you to stay and keep an old man company," he murmurs.

[2goodarms]

One corner of his mouth twitches, like he's trying to smile and not getting anywhere close.

"Not like I can go anywhere else," he says, no louder.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

His smile is crooked and sad, but at least slightly more deserving of the name. "That makes two of us."

[2goodarms]

Again, the burn in his throat, the clutch at his arm before he can stop himself.

He can't remember if he even said thank you. Those words are too weak; too small to encompass the enormity of what Gilliam did.

[snowpiercer_npcs]

Without a word, Gilliam leans forward again and reaches out to tug at the sleeve of Curtis's left arm, as though to pull that hand away from his injured arm.

There's barely any strength behind the pull; just enough that he'll feel it.