90 DEADLY DAYS (WEEKLY UPDATES RETURNING THIS DECEMBER)

Chapter 11

I nod, slowly chewing my lower lip. An easy silence settles over us as Kerry wraps his arm around my shoulders. Even though I know he only meant it as a brotherly gesture, my face flames and my ears buzz.

Brother, I think. He's your brother.

The tops of the trees stir in a sudden wind. The breeze envelopes us with cold air. My adrenaline must be wearing off if I'm noticing the dropping temperature, I didn't recognize a thing before. Kerry, feeling me shiver, pulls me closer. And suddenly, I'm hot all over.

I abruptly break away, pulse picking up speed.

"I just remembered. I still have raisins."

I reach in the mud for the packet that fell from my fisted hand when I collapsed on the shore. The sight of incurs the wrath of our hollow stomachs. Loud, bubbly growls erupt and Kerry's calming laugh fills my ears.

"This is pitiful. I'm excited for a packet of raisins."

I laugh too, pouring half of the pack into his hand.

"And I'll bet it'll taste better than the Final Feast."

It does. I stifle a satisfied groan as the dried sweetness crowds my mouth. I resist the temptation to inhale the meager fare and force myself to chew slowly, knowing that it'll trick me into thinking I've eaten more.

As I eat my attention wanders to Kerry. He's considerably leaner than the healthier version of himself back home. His cheeks have sunken, revealing a sharper version of his cheek bones. Dark circles rest beneath his eyes, accompanied by a thick scar. Stubble dots his normally clean shaven face and his hazel hair, usually cut close to his head, tickles the back of his neck and curls behind his rounded ears.

He makes me wonder.

What do I look like now?

My gaze moves to the water flowing past. I'm too scared to look.

Kerry clears his throat and cups his hands before moving closer to the stream. Using his hands as a bowl, he takes a drink.

"It helps you feel full for a little longer," he explains between sips. I nod and follow suit, pretending not to taste the dull flavor of mud in the water.

As droplets of it trickle down my chin, I glance at the eerie trees and brush behind us, recalling thirty minutes ago when I saw the gleaming eyes of villains ready to kill me for no fault of my own.

"Do you know why the Raiders hate us?" I hear myself saying.

Kerry pauses, thoughtfully looking up at the blackish-purple sky full of captivating stars. They're the only reason he and I can see each other, them and the moon. His forehead creases, and it's by slight frown on his lips that I know he's thinking hard.

"From what I've heard, life as a Recreant is hard."

I move from perching on my knees to sitting in the sticky mud, listening intently.

"You bear the punishment for your parent's crime for the rest of your life. From birth to death."

"And they hate us because Xaro supposedly treats us so well?" I ask. "Which is not true, at all."

"They kinda have a point though. They go about it the wrong way, a very wrong way, but they aren't wrong about how unjust their circumstances are."

My eyes widen, but the hate blooming in my heart doesn't fade.

"That still doesn't give them an excuse to be murderers."

"You don't get it. They're jealous of the rest of us, and this is the only time they get to take revenge on anything Xaro. Here, it's anarchy. The rules are kill or be killed. You can't be punished for your actions; there's no one commanding you left or right. It's a free for all killing fest. You can get back at Xaro for all those years of unfair hardship--"