Wake of the Dead | Three

Chapter Thirty-Nine | Killian

"How long has it been since we've eaten?" Killian rasped softly. He could barely speak loud enough for the rest to hear, the muffled screaming of people echoed through the slaughterhouse endlessly. He'd almost gotten used to it. Every hour was like an eternity here, the last three—maybe four—days had been a living nightmare, every second of it. He couldn't even remember how much time had passed. He couldn't remember Jasper's face, or any of the old group, scarcely even recalled their names. His energy was only conserved for breathing.

Raven replied, "I don't know." He was looking exhausted as well, but not as much as Killian felt. The unever wire of the cage beneath him as he pressed down against the floor was uncomfortable. The rays of the sun shone straight onto the metal cages, heating them up. Laying on the ground was an attempt to cool himself off. Panting didn't help. He'd tried and thrown up, the scent of blood was too much to handle. At least the nightwalkers hadn't been released again. Flies buzzed around the cages, almost as if they were waiting to pounce on a future meal.

Voices blurred, almost like his vision, which was growing dark at the corners. They were muffled, fuzzy, like television static. "He doesn't look good..."

"Raven," Killian said, "don't worry about me. Just—just get what you can when they bring the food. I'll be okay." A cold shudder ran down his spine, despite the dreadful heat. "Promise me that, okay?" My stomach, my head, my chest...all so heavy...am I dying? I'm so tired. So...tired.

Raven didn't say anything for a while, until a muffled reply, "Okay. I promise." Killian had taken off Jasper's jacket, but hadn't let go of it. It was too hot to wear it, but he wouldn't ever give it up. Not willingly, he'd fight anybody who tried to. It's the last thing I have of him. I don't care how dirty it is. I don't care that it doesn't smell like him anymore. I'll die with it in my arms if I have to. It's mine. It's mine!

The scent of warm food awoke a monster within his stomach. It was vicious, clawing at his belly with an undaunting fury. One of the Carvers opened each of the cages, Killian didn't have enough energy to cower away from them like the others. Once the cages were shut again, the four relaxed.

Aleu eyed his food cautiously, he didn't look very pleased. He thinks it might be poisoned. But Raven and Jess didn't appear to be affected, they immediately snatched up whatever they'd been given. It smelled heavenly, but Killian knew if he looked to see what they'd been fed, he'd regret it. They need it. I was sick before I got here. It wouldn't be fair to take their rations when I'm already halfway to death's door.

Killian let his eyes slowly drift closed, the searing rays had burnt his skin as they bounced off of the glinting metal. When the sun was beginning to set, that was when it got worse. The sticky, sickly tears in his eyes were made worse, his body as if he was being burnt from the inside out. His mind was a haze, he couldn't focus. He could barely focus on anything other than his own heartbeat.

Time itself was becoming odd, sometimes it felt as if it went by too fast and sometimes it was like everything was in slow motion. Before he knew it, it was already night time again. The relief of waking up to the cold instead of the heat was euphoric. "Raven?" He murmured. "Are you awake?"

"Mhm." The younger man curled up close against his body to share their warmth. Jess appeared to be asleep, Aleu was awake but hadn't said anything. "What is it?"

"Are the nightwalkers here again?"

"No."

"Good."

Killian fell silent, not a thought in his mind was offered. He only drank in the freezing night, relishing in it, knowing the heat would only return the next day. "Do you think we're going to get out of here?" He whispered. "Do you think I'll see Jasper again?"