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

I start to feel pretty good about our actions yesterday until I notice Colt’s squad is gone from the field. They never spoke a word to any of us.

We go hungry again tonight. And now, our water bucket is missing. The evening passes with us all feeling cranky and short-tempered. Even Jesse wakes up long enough to call us all “bloody arseholes” or something like that. Nothing productive gets done or is discussed.

The morning isn't much better. The light in our little cell hadn't dimmed at all like it usually does. More psych torture, I guess. Tough to get a deep sleep with the light on all night. All I can think of is a cup of coffee and a jelly doughnut. And my mouth begins to water.

No one says much as we wait for the jailer to unlock the door. Uncomfortable minutes crawl by as we hear him make his deliberate way toward us. The door clicks and then opens after a long pause. The ogre jailer seems to leer at us as he pulls a key from his belt pouch and tosses it into the room. With a porcine chuckle, he heads to the next cell.

Des picks up the key with a frown. “Something's wrong here.”

He fits the brass key into his shackle and has to fiddle with it to get it to unlock. “This ain't the regular key.”

We pass the key around, each of us having a little trouble unlocking our shackles. We hear the roach coach come rattling the down the hall, but we all try to ignore it. To our surprise, it stops at our cell.

Ledger Goblin opens the door and says with a grin, “Only one human here deserves food; enjoy it!” He tosses a sealed MRE to me. Snorting barely concealed laughter, he slams the door and moves on.

“Fuckin' amateurs,” mutters Haynes.

I look around the room. Jesse stares at the MRE, and Des tries to remain nonchalant. Haynes seems to be studying me again, not the MRE.

I smile and tear open the package. “Anyone hungry?” The tension breaks like cheap glass.

We divvy up the meal meant for one among the four of us. No one person gets a full belly, but at least it's something. The mood lifts slightly. We eat quickly and make our way to the arming room.

Des tries to put the substitute key in the lock, but it doesn't fit. This day just keeps getting shittier. The Gnolls pace and growl behind the door.

“Hurry, Pack. We heard talks of violence this morning!” Nian's voice sounds muffled from behind the thick wood.

“Sons o' bitches set us up!” Des slams the key to the ground in frustration. “The doors are sealed with magic. The key deactivates the wards and opens the lock. We're not gonna be able to get the door down.”

“How do you know this? I never noticed any magics or wards,” asks Haynes, surprised.

Des looks down toward his beard, not meeting Haynes' eye. “I noticed it about a year ago. I could feel it when the wards opened. I asked Thorn about it. She said I might be sensitive to the magic or something.” He holds out his right wrist and rolls back the sleeve, revealing a small blue circle.

Haynes pauses, appraising Des for a moment. “We'll come back to that later. Nian! Thirax! We can't open the lock! Try to slide some of the smaller blades under the door!”

A few moments pass, and a small dagger slides halfway out until the hilt gets caught. The Gnolls try to slam it harder but cannot get it to fit.

“Sergeant, that is the smallest blade, yet it won't go through,” yells Nian.

“The dirt is too packed down to dig under the door,” Thirax snarls.

Just then, we hear the ogres begin to bark and grunt the orders to move out. The Gnolls go into a frenzy and begin howling and alternate scratching at the door with their claws and throwing themselves at it to try and knock it down.

“We gotta move out folks, stay together, watch each other’s backs, and get to our usual spot as fast as we can. Thirax! Nian! Save your strength! You might need it if we don't return!” Haynes takes charge as usual and leads us into the flow of people heading out to the gates.

We are the only ones without armor and weapons. I've never felt so naked while still wearing clothes. I get jostled a few times on the way up the steep hallway. It’s dark in here, and I can't tell if these little hits are on purpose or not. We pass the alcoves, and to our dismay, they are devoid of even the most broken and dull blade.

Jogging out into the dim sunlight, I notice two things immediately: One, it’s raining for the first time since I've been here, and two, we have a welcoming committee waiting for us.

Rat-Face and Spike-Hair Girl stand front and center about twenty feet before us. Just behind them is a tall man in a black cloak, the hood raised to shadow his face. He's probably the guy who stabbed Colt. Two others I recognize from the fight the other day are next to the cloaked guy. Everyone has a sword or some other kind of blade out. Everyone except us, of course.

I'm just now starting to realize that I might have screwed up pretty big here. Apparently, we created enough waves to be noticed.

Haynes steps forward and nods to Rat-face. “Liam, you sniveling coward, still a crony for the Fey?” he asks in a conversational tone.

“Well, Sarge, since you kicked us out of the squad, we've had to do what we can to get by. We can make this quick, for old times’ sake, if you want,” he says in a faint Boston accent.

“You know these guys, Sarge?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

“Sure do, Son. Had to kick Liam here out of the squad 'cause he cried