Dallas blinked his eyes open. He could barely see anything. The room was dark, and stuffy. As he took a deep breath, his lungs refused to cooperate. Coughing, he struggled to sit up. Dust floated in the air around him. It made his body go rigid. He never let the house get dusty, but after a moment he recognized the boy across from him.
“Clint,” he called softly. His throat burned, making him cough again.
Clint groaned softly. He heard his name being called from the dark, but his insides spasmed when he tried to move.
Inch by inch, Dallas crawled his way to Clint. His body screamed at him. Despite it, he kneeled beside his friend, “what happened? Are you okay?”
“Hurts,” whispered Clint.
“What’s wrong? I can barely see you.”
“Everything.”
Dallas huffed a laugh, “that’s helpful.” He pulled Clint up beside him.