Chapter Text
if it ends here
by the side of the lake, there will be water in your shoes forever.
it will have been enough
At the start, there are still three groups.
Maybe it isn't quite the start. It's possible to trace them backwards - to sheltering under a half-collapsed house from the rain, to a child in the rubble or standing in a ramen shop, to the blaze of a fire in the summer.
Even further back than that is a convenience store. Two foreign exchange students arriving at the same tent. A mountain or a school or a single bad decision that sets everything else into motion.
It all begins from the same earthquake, and if there has to be a start, maybe it's the moment that the ground starts shaking and it's worse than anyone could have prepared for.
Yuma picks his way through the rubble of a house. The stench of smoke still clings to his clothes, despite trying to rinse them in a nearby river a couple of days ago. Nicholas and Euijoo are talking softly behind him. It's almost quiet enough for his hearing aids not to pick up - but just loud enough that they do.
Out loud, he complains and rolls his eyes. He jokingly flirts just to see the reaction of the other (there never is one - they're much too comfortable for that, but that doesn't mean it isn't still fun), or he pretends to look into a camera like he's on a television programme.
Inside, he notices that they speak slightly louder when he steps further away. The hum of conversation reminds him that they're both behind him even when he isn't looking in their direction.
Fuma kneels down and cleans the dirt off of Harua's white rabbit bag with steady hands, moving slowly enough that the child doesn't flinch. Maki runs in circles around them. He's an endless ball of energy, bright eyes and confidence that only seems to waver when he feels completely alone.
Jo stands just out of reach. There's a set of sketching pencils hidden in the depths of Fuma's bag for him. He needs to find a paper pad left in good enough quality first. He's still young (even if Harua and Maki are younger, he's still a child facing a situation he should never have had to experience), and Fuma refuses to forget that.
He smiles at Harua. The rabbit bag is slightly cleaner. Maki hesitates before Fuma signals that he's okay to approach again. When he stands up, he heads back over to Jo before he can stand alone for too long.
Taki winces at the blisters beginning to form on the back of his ankles. His last shoes had fallen apart from a combination of too-much-walking and a ground still wet from the slightly-acidic rain. The new ones are slightly too big. They slip off his heels despite the fact he's wearing multiple pairs of socks.
K notices. He doesn't allow Taki to protest them using some of their precious band-aids. He says they'll stop whenever they can next to search for a better-fitting pair, despite the fact that it'll more likely be a waste of time than not.
They always need to be able to run, K tells him. In that, unspoken, is a promise. It isn't K's shoes that are broken. But he's not leaving Taki behind even if it could save himself - that's what he's saying, even if those exact words never leave his mouth.
At the start, there were nine of them.
In the end, out of all the footage and the photographs, there's one moment that stands out against the rest.
It isn't filmed, even though it's just as important as anything else they've managed to catch through the scraps of attempted recording and documentation.
The reasons are simple: for one, there's no tape left. It seems like a waste to be prioritising a new SD card for a camera when all the shops were looted months ago. There are no more packs of polaroid film to be found. They're all beneath the boots of people trying to outrun something they can't explain, or burning down the remnants of buildings to try and stay warm.
The second is that out of the two film cameras and the Nicholas' polaroid that are left with them, only the polaroid remains. It's damaged by the rain and the exposure at this point. He hasn't had the chance or the time to fix it lately, not with everything else that has been happening.
It feels like it's coming to an end anyway. A shifting change that can't be stopped. Inevitable, unlike the earthquake that threw them all together in the first place, a creeping feeling that tastes like copper and feels like something stuck in your lungs.
And when it does end - because that's what it is without the cameras - the scene is painted onto the back of their eyelids anyway.
It goes like this:
There is a lake. Or a sea. Wider than a river for sure, but unclear whether the slight waves on the surface are just from the wind or any actual current. It would take up most of the screen if it was being filmed. More mud-coloured than anything else, with none of the shimmering surface reflecting the endless blue of the sky.
The person filming would be standing by the bank. One person in a line, so there would be sleeves just out of frame. Maybe the film is shaking. It pans down slightly, just enough to show that the bank of the lake isn't actually a bank at all - just where the water has stopped, seeping into the mud of a field.
The person behind the camera has waded in. It comes up to just below their knees, where their trousers have been carefully pinned up around their thighs. There might be one person beside them or there might be two. The camera doesn't show any hint of temperature or time of year, but there are goosebumps where their skin is visible, and the audio might catch the chattering of teeth.
There is a field on the other side as well. It's only just visible. Drowned under the weight of water that seems permanent, but hadn't been there only a couple of months ago. The camera swings out to reveal an even larger body - there isn't any sign of land on this side. It looks deep.
If you ignore the shivering, it's completely silent other than the sound of two engines.
The first is barely visible in the distance. A ship - a boat, hard to tell its actual size from this far away. Not a vessel for personal entertainment. This is something with a purpose, the distance may obscure most of the detail but not the clearly scientific equipment hanging off the side. It's foreign - even if the characters on the side can't be made out, that's the only reason why a ship in such good shape would appear in an otherwise-desolate landscape.
The second engine is closer. This is what's being filmed.
A much smaller boat that has clearly been scavenged. Only large enough for one. The wood doesn't quite match - it's been patched up in several places. There's a sail extending from the centre, catching the wind through several sewn-up holes in the fabric, but also an engine.
The wind is in the right direction. The engine is weak, but it's pushing the boat forwards towards the larger ship.
From this angle, it might appear like the boat is empty. The filming would only start after it had been pushed away - the reason why they're standing in the mud - or maybe it would be someone at the shore holding it, catching the exact moment that their fingertips touch the wood for the last time.
It might swing to the side, just long enough for the number of people to be counted. Five of them at the shore, three of them in the mud, all of them watching as the boat gets further and further away.
It comes to an end, because the wood of the boat is dark and the skin of the hand caught just over the side is pale. And the two film cameras are packaged with every photograph taken, and they aren't waterproofed well, but it'll have to be enough.