90 DEADLY DAYS (WEEKLY UPDATES RETURNING THIS DECEMBER)

Chapter 31

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Chapter 31

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I pack up Butcher's two airdrop sacks in the faint morning light. The den smells of gore and decaying tissues—in the corner lies our enemy with fangs still unleashed. Her menacing, contorted mouth bares open, hungering for Graduate blood. Taking her in, I'm seized by violent tremors. Carnivore gnats buzz all around.

Butcher flays off the Fynx's swarthy coat and afterwards hacks off bulky, pink pieces of her. Sweat borne of exertion slides off the warrior's gritty skin and paints the packed dirt. He keeps his back to me and coldness sharpens his spine. I fear things have gone back to normal. Old habits die hard.

You would never know he nearly gave up the ghost last night. He hides his pain so well, letting only his breath hitch here and there when the agony must become unbearable. Watching him, I want to cry and I don't know why. Blood still streams from ugly wounds. The growing pallor of his skin reveals that the loss is too much.

Stop! I want to scream. Just stop!

If he asked me what I wanted him to stop I wouldn't know exactly what. But something...there's something I just can't take anymore of.

When firmer light butters a pale, snowy blanket we leave the den and trudge into harshness and snow. It's too dangerous to stay—other Fynxs may come to avenge their fallen one.

To give us provisions for the trip, Butcher stows hunks of the Fynx meat in a sack and carries it slung across his back along with his weaponry. He gives the flayed Fynx fur to me and I encase my shivering frame in its warmth. The miserable cold makes my qualms with touching dead flesh disappear. My bare feet press into the unbearable frost. After ten minutes I connect with them no longer—for all I know they may not even be apart of me anymore. I lose them to frostbite?

The wounded warrior strides forward, skin naked to the winds, lengthy, matted hair blowing wildly in the freezing gusts. His tunic is as thin as mine but there are no goosebumps on his skin.

We've waded a few yards from the bloody burrow when I stop. My breath wafts before me in great clouds. Staring into the fog a face grows and comes alive. I see her! I see my friend. Blue eyes materialize from the landscape of white. A mouth edged with laughter; a perky, alert nose; warm, open hands. Jewel.

"Have you forgotten me?" I almost hear her saying.

No! Never!

"Then where are you? Where are you dear friend?"

I am lost. I am trapped. He, he...

"Find me. It's almost over.."

No! No!

I stare at Butcher's back. My teeth grit down until I could swear they chip away and turn to dust. This is my chance, my time to be a lone wolf once more. I have the courage and the opposition is at its weakest. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? And hasn't Butcher changed, at least somewhat? There are chinks in that heart of iron. Everything isn't absolute.

Jewel.

What kind of friend have I been? I think of my friendship with Kerry and feel like dying.

"We're heading east." Butcher speaks for the first time since last night. He must wonder why I've stopped. The husky growl of his voice sounds tired, as if it's nearing the end of its lifespan. Hearing it I can't stop the shivers that come, the terrible memories of when it cried my name in the dark. 

"We'll stop after we bypass the mountains."

The snowy peaks loom in the far distance.

"I'm going west." My fists clench resolutely, though my trembling lip unveils my secret fears.