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

small animal and insect noises. Haynes and Vince stir in their sleep. Vince sits up partway. Haynes awakens and makes eye contact with me while putting a protective arm around Thorn, who’s curled up next to him like a little spoon.

“Relax, I'll check it out. Go back to sleep,” I whisper to him as I climb down from the wagon. He nods and closes his eyes.

I hold my revolver in my right hand and the penlight in my left. Not the best source of light, but it’s all I got. I choose the pistol over the mace for one simple reason. Noise. If something happens, nothing wakes people up faster than a gunshot.

I leave the clearing in the direction of the crashing sound. Stepping under the canopy of the treetops, I'm cut off from the bright moonlight and plunged into the shadows.

“Jesse… Jess… you out there?” I call out. No answer. I move deeper into the brush and click on the penlight. Sweeping the beam around, I see nothing that could've caused the noise. I click the light off and stand still, listening. Yet no sounds reach my ears, not even a whisper in the wind as the eerie quiet surrounds me.

About a minute passes, when I hear another cracking and thumping noise about a hundred feet or so further away from the camp. I hesitate for just a moment, then decide to go check it out.

My boots aren’t made for stealth, so I end up making more noise than I want to while tramping through the thicket. I stop every ten or fifteen yards and listen for a moment. Still nothing. I get to the approximate spot I think the noise came from and again see nothing in the dim penlight.

A crash and thudding noise splits the air once more, this time further off. I stop and crouch down, finally recognizing this 'carrot on the stick’ for what it is. Damn, I'm dense sometimes.

A twig snaps behind me, and I swiftly spin around, just in time to catch a freight train to the side of my head.

My next organized thought is the sensation of my ears are ringing. I vaguely notice that my helmet is no longer on my head. This time, I've ended up face down in the dead leaves and dirt. I feel a hard boot slam down in the middle of my back. I try to roll to the side, but the foot keeps me pinned to the ground.

The weight on my back shifts, and I guess that whoever's there is winding up for another swing with whatever they just hit me with. Out of desperation, I manage to twist just enough to get the pistol over my shoulder. I pull the trigger twice and flinch as hot powder and deafening thunder explode right next to my ear. A loud grunt comes back, and the crushing weight disappears.

I drop the empty gun as I scramble to my feet and pull my mace. I stumble as a wave of dizziness washes over me. Through blurry eyes, I see a shadow race through the underbrush and merge with the gloom. I take a few steps to give chase, but the dizziness returns, and I drop to one knee, too nauseous to move forward.

I take a few deep breaths until the world stops spinning and my nausea passes. In the distance, I hear a wolf-like howl, answered quickly by another, deeper howl, close by. A moment later, the leaves of some bushes rustle, and a large wolf-form leaps into the small clearing. It comes forward on four legs and then stands up on its hind legs, drawing a heavy sword. I recognize Thirax and let out a sigh of relief. He howls again, and Nian answers, much closer this time.

“What did this, and where did it go?” Thirax growls his question.

“I don't know, but it went that way,” I point off into the dark forest.

Thirax drops back down to all fours and sniffs the ground and the leaves.

“Nothing. No scent, no trail to follow,” he snorts through his nose.

Nian lopes into the clearing, sword in hand. Thirax catches him up in a terse series of growls.

“Let’s get back to camp; something led me here and then tried to take me out. I think the camp may be in danger,” I say as I grab my helmet and begin trampling through the underbrush. Thirax darts on ahead, but Nian stays and keeps pace with me.

We run as fast as I can through the darkened woods, hoping we make it in time. I want to shout to alert the rest of our group, but I know if the gunshots didn't do it, my shouting will only give away our position.

The moonlit clearing of our camp comes into view through the thick foliage. The three of us stop and spread out about ten feet apart at the edge of the light's reach. A low thick fog seems to have settled over the glade in the few minutes I've been gone. It might be a trick of the full moon, but the fog seems to have a blueish-silver glow to it.

The wind shifts and picks up a little. We see the silhouette of a body lying near the heated stones, not moving, and it's too obscured to see if they are breathing. Even the horses are lying down, also too still. Thirax growls in anger and charges into the camp.

He makes a beeline for the first body he sees, but he keeps moving his head, scanning for threats. His ears swivel to detect the smallest sound, and he sniffs the air as he runs. In the brief, thirty yards or so he's gone, the wind dies down, and the fog shifts back over him and the camp.

I can barely see as his outline begin to slow, the fog overtaking him. His movements now seem sluggish and deliberate. He falls to his knees next to a prone body, and I think he's gonna drop,