You're My Anchor

#1

((Zack Harlow continued from The Boy Who Wasn't Actually A Rocketboat))
((Kurt Thorne continued from And I Will Strike Down Upon Thee With Great Vengeance and Furious Anger Those Who Attempt to Destroy My Brothers))

Something scraped along the floor.

Faint vibrations ran through his feet and legs, squeaking every so often, rubber on tile.

A haze sat on Zack, thoughts rolling over one another like pebbles sliding downhill. Moving... why was he moving?

"The field's already thinning out. We've both been lucky so far."

"Don't call it good luck. We shouldn't be here."

"It's relative."

His arm hurt. His face and head hurt, but the arm was hitting him with more insistence. What was with his shoulder? It was all twisted back and around, an insistent tugging jarring the socket.

Tugging... wait. He was being dragged along by the arm. by the wrist.

Zack opened his eyes, and the brightness of the light slammed into him with such ferocity he jammed them closed again, trying not to heave. Eyes, eyes. One of them hadn't listened to him. Felt, swollen.

"Every contestant has to make a choice, sooner or later."

"About killing."

"It's the name of the game."

"You're full of shit, Zack."

Wrist was sore too. What was up with that? A biting sensation, something cutting into the flesh, cordlike, rubbing raw.

Come on. Zack tried to pull the shreds together. Cruise ship. Walking around the cruise ship, having conversations, laying low whenever a particular commotion started up. Trying to assess the next steps.

Somebody muttered something, behind and above him. Zack opened up the eye that wasn't swollen shut, squinting.

His hand was... tied to some kind of a cart? Pool equipment cart? There was a floatie tucked into one of the shelves.

Wha...?

"You're just using me, aren't you?"

"Oh grow up, Kurt. Anyone who's ever teamed up in SOTF has got something out of it. I could accuse you of the exact same thing."

"You're seriously wearing on my last nerve here."

"Then leave!"

The movement stopped. Zack gritted his teeth and lay still.

Footsteps.

"Stop faking, Zack. Heard you whining."

Ugh. Kurt was standing over him, stonefaced.

"Rise and shine," said Kurt.

"Was tying me up really necessary?"

"I dunno, you tell me."

Zack groaned. "Kurt, this is a misunderstanding."

"You pointed your damn axe at me!"

"For emphasis."

"Yeah. Okay. Get up."

Biting his tongue, Zack rose, finally letting him reorient himself. Yeah, this was definitely the cruise ship. Just as he'd thought, his right hand was ziptied to a cart, a cart which was...

He swallowed.

At the edge of a swimming pool.

Zack turned back to Kurt. He couldn't take much satisfaction from the angry scratch marks on the bigger guy's cheek, not when Kurt had knocked him cold with a hook and done... this, while he was out.

Zack tried a smile on for size. "Alright if you were planning on spooking me then well done, it's working."

Kurt fixed him with a glower. "Who says I'm trying to scare you?"

"Kurt... if you wanted me dead, you'd have done it already. I was unconscious. I know you hate this game, so look, come on, can't we just let bygones be bygones?"

A long pause. Way too long. Zack felt sweat dripping down his brow. Blood at his wrist.

Kurt sighed.

"Fine, fine. You're right. But you were being an asshole."

Ohh thank god. Zack smiled, relief making the expression an easy one to wear, pushing away the resentment and frustration. "Thank you."

"Give me a second to get my scissors. I'll cut you free."

"Uhh, hold on—"

Kurt was already walking away.

"Kurt! For fuck's sake! Don't leave me hanging on the edge of—"

Maybe the shouting was too much, maybe it was standing up after getting knocked flat. Zack's vision spiralled away from him. He staggered, catching himself on the cart.

Squeak.

The wheels moved.

Everything lurched out from underneath Zack.

Wait, wait, no no no no—

"KUR—"

The splash snatched his scream away.

Fuck! Fuck! Zack twisted around frantically as the cart dragged him to the bottom of the pool. Stupid—fucking—ziptie! Stupid fucking Kurt! There had to be something he could do, slip his wrist clear—he planted his feet against the cart and pulled. The cord dug deep, little wisps of blood wicking off into the water.

Okay, not working, not working. Another plan. Could he drag the cart clear? It'd flipped onto its side but it wasn't that heavy, right? It'd moved easily enough. Sure it was on its side but Zack could just tip it back over and then maybe he could even drag it the whole way along the bottom.

He couldn't even see how far that would be. How long would that take? How long could he hold his breath? Zack's chest already felt the strain.

Another splash. Zack looked up. Kurt.

Kurt swam down towards him, expression set and determined.

Zack watched, lungs beginning to burn. Kurt reached him, gestured to the cart. Grabbed Zack's arm, slung it over his own shoulder.

...He had to be kidding. That was the plan?

But nope, there he went, starting to swim upwards, dragging Zack, the cart.

Ever so slightly.

Not enough.

Motherfucker. Motherfucker.

All Kurt had to do, was not leave him on the edge, and they wouldn't be in this mess.

Black spots in front of Zack's working eye now. The surface was so far. Kurt was straining.

Just a matter of time before he gave up.

Zack wasn't going to give him the option.

This was Kurt's fault, so Kurt could go down with the fucking ship.

Zack slid his arm hanging onto Kurt to squeezing his neck in the crook of his elbow. Kurt jerked, a string of bubbles spewing from his mouth. He thrashed, trying to throw Zack off.

Zack clamped down harder, harder, with everything he had, with every ounce of strength left as his breath could hold no longer and he gasped on water, flooding his lungs.

Neither of them resurfaced.

SS08 - ZACK HARLOW - ELIMINATED
CK01 - KURT THORNE - ELIMINATED