90 DEADLY DAYS (WEEKLY UPDATES RETURNING THIS DECEMBER)

Chapter 25

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Chapter 25

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Gurgling.

Drowning.

Drowning in a bed of red.

My neck bares its veins to the stars. The glimmers twinkle back sorrowfully, the cast off bright shine reminiscent of the glare of sunlight on teardrops. It's a sea of holes to heaven. Who was the first to puncture the black blanket called sky, allowing the world to finally see true, ethereal beauty? To taunt us with the knowledge of something we'll never reach? Never have?

It was futile—trying to kill myself. When the murderous gash eases up and down, straining to cleave its shredded flesh back together, I'm not surprised. The knife, although bloody and colored with bits of ebony skin and hair, is no match against Xaro. The pricking of a needle followed by the slither of thread causes my eyelids to flutter.

Closing them, I catch a vision beyond the illusion Xaro's shoved before me. A Xaron's surgeon's hands work quickly and a whirring piece of technological wonder keeps my heart pumping, it keeps damage to a minimum. In a few minutes, when I clasp underneath my chin, all I feel is a small scratch.

The feel of it churns up bile in my gut. I rise, retching onto the dried mud of the wasteland. The stillness of Kerry beside me sends pings flying through my head. They bang into the backs of my eyes, at the bottom of my brain, one gets stuck at the nape of my spine. I struggle for air, shutting my eyes and gasping away the living truth.

They could have saved Kerry.

They could have saved him from me.

But they wanted me to see him die.

They wanted him to die.

I think back to when Kerry knelt on the ground, the beastly flames of the volcano eating up the sun in the distance. He told me to run.

I scream.

Had he been trying to save himself from me?

Did he see what they would make us do?

"They want you to suffer!"

I yelp into an unforgiving night like a dog kicked by a tyrannical master.

And then I collapse. My shaking fingers clutch my healing throat and I squeeze, praying that I'm strong enough to take myself away. To suffocate.

I hold on for as long as I can.

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Yellow light beams onto the black sky. My head stirs from its resting place on Kerry's cold, immobile chest. I swallow down dried blood and my clawed throat receives it, shuddering. It is night, near the height of darkness, and yet this eerie glow appears.

The wind cools. Breaths turns into frost.

Straining, I study the skies. The beam flushes over frothy clouds, slowly and stealthily drifting on. I suspect it's a headlight from the way it tapers at its beginning, forming the triangle-like glare of a flashlight. Squinting harder, I make out the barely distinguishable outline of a ship.

I'm soon on my feet.

Kerry shifts ever so slightly. I'm stepping on his icy arm. Gasp. Recoil.

I step on the caked knife. It still smells of death. Why does death smell so sweet? Death is something so sour, so ugly, and so evil; I guess nature has a sense of irony. My fingers reach down as a shadowy form ghosts down from the ship hovering miles up. It disappears into the wooded depths behind. Several more follow the one—I count hundreds.