Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1) Keith Ahrens (best e reader for epub txt) 📖

After what feels like a ten-mile hike, we finally pass through the doors. No one else takes a shot at us, but it feels like we barely made it. Steve meets us halfway down the hall.

“Thorn is waiting in our arming room. Hurry!” he says, panting.

“Yeah, hurry up!” echoes the guy standing next to him.

‘Hurry up’ he says. Why is it the people who aren't doing anything helpful always think that they have to tell those who are to hurry?

We finally reach their armory, only two doors down from ours. Steve stops me at the door and says, “We can take it from here, thanks.”

I put my end of the stretcher down, and Vince hurries to match my movement.

“I guess this is where the trust ends, eh?” I raise my eyebrow as I watch them.

He doesn't say anything, but he also doesn't meet my gaze. I sigh aloud and turn with my squad to our own armory. I shake the strain out of my arms and say over my shoulder, “Let us know if he makes it.”

“Will do,” Steve replies. The door slams shut as the ogre guard in the hall suspiciously watches us all.

For the next few hours, we remain in our cell, trying to relax, yet alert for any trouble. No one speaks much. Not that there's nothing to say, just no point in saying it. After a while, we hear the goblins' roach coach rattling down the hall and making their evening stops at each door. My stomach begins to growl in anticipation of some solid food.

The door swings open, and the usual routine begins. One points a crossbow threateningly into the room, the other holds his own weapon at the ready, and the third checks his ledger. A brief discussion ensues before they toss MREs at each person… almost each person. Maybe I should have seen this coming, but I honestly never considered it.

“Hey, where's mine?” I ask in surprise.

Crossbow Goblin points the bolt at my chest. Ledger Goblin laughs as he looks at me and says in almost understandable English, “Learn your place, human! Or don't… we always need more meat for our pantry!” He continues laughing in his lizard-rat kind of way. Asshole.

The door closes, and the cart rattles on to the next cell.

My stomach growls as I reach under my pallet and pull out my meager stores of leftover food. Between the intense physical exertion every day, Thorn’s magic healing, and trying to figure out how to escape this place, I haven’t managed to save much at all. And now as I sort through the remains, I see all that I have left is moldy and rotten. Without refrigeration, the food spoiled a lot faster than I thought it would. I’m sure the constant dampness of our cell didn’t help either. Whatever, it's all inedible. My stomach complains again as I flop down on the pallet. It's gonna be a long night until breakfast.

“Hey,” I look over at Haynes calling to me. He tosses me the brownie from his MRE as I quickly sit back up and catch it. “I think they noticed you out there today. Tomorrow, we'll see who else did.”

Des and Jesse also toss me the desserts from their meal pouches as well. I nod to each in thanks. We quietly eat our 'meal' and wonder what we started today.

7

The next day begins like any other in this Hellhole, with one notable exception—the breakfast wagon passes right by our cell without even pausing.

“Pretty pitiful psychological warfare is what that is,” says Haynes, “trying to get us to turn on Caleb.” He finishes his thought loud enough so everyone else can hear him, and I'm grateful to him for saying it.

Des snorts. “Shit, that’s pathetic. Don't you worry now, Hoss. We ain’t gonna turn on you… just yet.” He throws me a smirk as he says the last two words.

I shake my head as I say, “Thanks guys, but we're all gonna get pretty hungry real soon if this keeps up.”

“They're not gonna starve us for long. Only until we get the point,” Haynes says.

The others break out the little remains of their stashed leftovers. Just like mine, most of it is rotten and inedible. Anything still good is divvied up between us, but it’s not enough by a long shot. We drink plenty of water just to fill our bellies, gear up and get out into the practice yard. With caution, we head to our usual spot on the field.

Colt’s squad is in their normal place but without Colt himself. Most of them make a point to avoid looking at us with one exception. Vince meets my eye and nods before turning away.

The air is tense, and the practice yard seems quieter than usual. I can't help but notice that more than a few people are staring at us. None of them will meet my eyes, turning away, as if they'd never looked our direction in the first place. Angry or ashamed or neither, I can't really tell.

We run through our normal stretches and warm-ups. Each one of us keeps looking around; by unspoken consensus, we're all expecting trouble. But none comes. We spend the morning going through half-speed drills so we aren't distracted if something happens. We keep waiting all morning for the next shoe to drop, but it doesn't.

My nerves are frazzled by midday. Even though we're close to the wall, I feel exposed and out in the open. Any sudden movement has me spinning around to meet the nonexistent threat, flinching at any fast motion in my peripheral vision. This is no way to live.

In the early afternoon, the goblin wagon comes by. A little late today, but we have been looking forward to our bucket of water. Jesse reaches for the ladle when Nian stops him. Thirax takes a quick sniff of the water and kicks the bucket over in disgust.

“Goblins pissed in the water,” he snarls angrily.

Cruel laughter