The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Girlymann slowly lifted the trap door. Lucky for him, the coal dust had lubricated the hinges for there in front of him were a pair of feet. Actually two pairs of feet. One of a man with work boots and another of a woman with very small feet. Shit, Campy thought to himself, of all the rotten luck.

Campy looked at the Belgian who was hanging on to Campy's waist with one arm and and his bike with the other. He looked tired and strained from the climb up the shoot.  His head rested on Girlymann's thigh. Campy wanted to comfort him, somehow reach out to the man that had endured and suffered so much for Grilymann that it brought tears to his eyes.

With each passing minute that strained the two's tendons and sore muscles Campy could feel the fight drain from the poor Belgian, the giant man who now weighed a little more than a hundred pounds. It made Campy mad. Made him want to fight and he wasn't going to be defeated. He wasn't going to let the domestic down.

Girlymann steeled his legs to each side of the shoot. He carefully took his bike from the grip of the Belgian and hoisted it carefully up to his side. Then he leaned against the bike to hold it in place. When the bike was secured, Campy reached down and pulled the domestic up wrapping his arms around the man and holding him fast in the tight space of their spider hole. Girlymann felt the body of the Belgian relax and  his bony frame rest on Campy. He made a vow then, to protect the Belgian no matter what it took. He wouldn't let him down no matter how tired his own body became.

Campy could feel the heartbeat of the man, feel the limbs, cold from the time in the dungeon begin to warm against his body and he willed himself to burn more energy and comfort the Belgian as much as he could. He hoped that the two would soon leave their position by the gate so that they could get out, where he could fight at least rather than feel like trap rats buried in a hole. 

To be continued....