Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1) by Keith Ahrens (books for 8th graders .txt) 📗

and conditioning have been paying off in spades, especially, these last few days, but everyone has their limits. I think I'm getting close to mine. My lower back is killing me. My legs feel like lead, and I'm just not able to draw enough air into my lungs to keep this up for much longer. And I feel a strange weight on my shoulders, not a lot, but enough for me to notice. At this moment, I figure it’s just more spinal damage. I just hope it doesn't get worse.

The water dragon charges forward, smashing down small trees and crushing bushes with each step. It doesn't seem to be able to get up to full speed while dragging its rear leg, so at least I have that going for me.

I somehow remember that alligators can run very fast on dry land but can't corner worth a damn. I start to run in a long zig-zag pattern, going a few yards in one direction before changing it up. It seems to be working. I gain some ground, the beast roaring in frustration.

The weight on my back grows a little heavier as I push through the brush as fast as I can. Stumbling a little, I recover and try to put on some speed. But like I said, I'm getting close to my limits here. I know I can't run for much longer. Time to change tactics here.

My mace is useless, about as effective as hitting a bear with a Nerf hammer, so that’s out. No dagger, but again, that would be just as useless right now. What I do have is a small copper rod with a crystal at its tip. Sometimes, the best things come in small packages.

I've seen this thing in action, and I'm pretty sure it would stop this dragon dead in its tracks. The problem is, I haven't had a chance to test it yet. From what Thorn explained, I just have to point it and concentrate to make it spit a few thousand joules of electricity. In theory. In practice, this could prove a lot more difficult.

Haynes

“All right, the distraction is working so far; let’s get moving again,” Haynes says.

“But what about Caleb? Jesse couldn't find him, and he didn't double back on the trail like he was supposed to,” Colt asks, concerned.

“We can't wait. That moon is gonna set real soon, so we continue on as planned. Let’s go!” the Sarge says, the last phrase more of an order.

“Besides, he knew the risks when he volunteered for this,” mutters Vince. This earns him several cold glares.

“He's one of us. We're not leaving until we locate him,” states Olivia.

“For all we know, he jumped through already, and he's waiting on us,” Vince retorts. “Maybe he saw his chance and he took it.”

“No way!” Miles says angrily. “He wouldn’t do that!”

“This is getting us nowhere, dammit. Move out, now!” Haynes cuts sharply through the chatter with a snarl on his face.

Des snaps the reins without warning, and the wagon lurches forward. Vince almost loses his footing but regains his balance. Olivia has to jog a few steps before she can grab the back of the wagon. Grayson takes her wrist and pulls her in.

“Nian, Thirax! See if you can pick up Caleb's trail. Don't stray too far; we ain't got a lot of time,” Haynes orders over the clatter of the cart. He looks up and glimpses the full moon through the thick branches. “Fifteen minutes, no more!”

Des tries to pitch his voice low for only Haynes to hear while competing with the sound of the wheels rolling across the ground. “Not saying we should do it, but don't the Gnolls belong here? Thorn, too, for that matter. What are we gonna do with 'em? Keep 'em inside a kennel?”

Haynes stays silent long enough that Des thinks he isn't going to answer. The two men watch the humanoid dogs lope off into the thick foliage on the side of the trail. Finally, he replies, “I don't know. What I do know is they can't stay here. If they do, they’ll be hunted and slaughtered… or worse. No, they come with us. We all remain together until we figure this out.” He pulls out his pistol for the umpteenth time, drops the magazine, and makes sure it's full. He half-racks the slide of the gun, ensuring there's a round in the chamber. He slams the mag back in place. “Let’s get our people home.”

26

Each step is getting harder than the last. My right leg is numb now and threatening to buckle with each step. I'm losing speed and can't seem to draw enough air to fill my lungs. Panting hard, my chest feels constricted by my armored breastplate. Sweat is now running like a salty rain down my face and my back. That damn water dragon is relentless. He's hounding my steps and gaining ground while I tire.

There! Up ahead of me, I finally see what I've been looking for—a thick copse of old-growth trees. Maybe fifty yards, tough to tell in the darkness and with the lack of oxygen. I might have to rethink my stance on 'cardio' when this is all said and done.

I dig deep for my second wind, or is it my third wind? Whatever. I grab whatever willpower I have left, put my head down, and give it an extra burst of speed. As I get closer to the grove, I notice it spreads further to either side than I can see in the gloom, and it seems to go back quite a ways. Perfect.

Now that I'm no longer zig-zagging, that damn dragon is catching up again, also picking up some speed. For a change, that’ll work in my favor—I hope. It’s close enough now that I can hear air whistling through its ruined nostrils. It might be my imagination, but I can almost feel its fetid breath on my legs. Looking back would only slow me down, so I concentrate