Rise Of The Hunters - Chapter 64

Matilda couldn’t feel her toes or fingers. Her body hurt and the ache in her stomach was such agony, she had chewed her fingernails to the quick. The pebbles and dirt in the corners were starting to tempt her.

There hadn’t been a noise for a long time. She wanted to leave and see if Tommy was okay, but couldn’t seem to get the strength up to move.

A noise to her side got her attention. A voice in her head urged her to turn her head and see what it was. After the sound continued for several moments, she finally turned her head. A rat sat only a few inches from her nose. It had been chewing on her hair.

The shock sent adrenaline rushing through her body, and strength she didn’t know she had forced her to attack. The rat was surprised as her hand slammed down on it. It wasn’t dead, only stunned, but she didn’t think about anything else as she slammed her fist down over and over.

“That was my hair!” she cried.

Her hand hurt, and she cradled it in her ŀȧp as tears poured down her face. They didn’t last though, as her gaze fell on the carcass. Licking her lips, she looked down at her hand. It was covered in fur and blood. The hollow feeling in her stomach tried to tell her she needed to eat to survive, but she couldn’t make herself do it. The little voice in her head told her it was no different than the dried meat she had been eating with her brother.

The thought of him suddenly made her remember that she hadn’t heard him in a while. Had it been minutes, hours, days?

Panic coursed through her, and she fought the too tight tunnel to get out of the concrete cage she had put herself into. There was no sign of any werewolves, not that she was looking for them. Her mind was so fragmented from hunger and dehydration that she wasn’t capable of remembering them. She could only think of her brother, who was smaller than her and probably suffering more than her.

She looked through the tunnel he had escaped into, and saw him, laying still against the wall she had shared with him. He was too still.

The panic that got her out of her room, got her into his. As she touched his cold cheek, a sob threatened to break her open. Then she saw that his ċhėst was moving with slow, even breathes and she could breath again. Shaking his shoulder did not wake him up. Every inch of her body was screaming with fatigue, and the thought of curling up next to him was overpowering, but that little voice told her to get him back to the nest. Get him warm and to start a fire to heat water.

Licking her dry lips, she slid her arms under his shoulders and dragged him to the tunnel. Looking at it dully, the little voice told her to go feet first, so she could drag him out. Nodding in agreement to the voice, she climbed clumsily into the tunnel feet first. Grabbing his arms, she dragged him, inching them out of the room, through the tunnel.

The edges of the concrete dug into her legs as she slowly wiggled out. The voice told her to be careful of his head as she continued to pull him.

Breathing hard, she paused to rest once he was out, in her ŀȧp. She didn’t have the strength. She just wanted to sleep. As her eyes started to close, the voice urged her to hurry before the werewolves came back.

With a mȯȧn, she got him onto her back and stumbled towards their nest; their home. She didn’t know how long it took her. She focused on taking one step at a time. He almost slipped off her back several times, but she was able to catch him. The voice in her head urged her on. Telling her when to turn, when to duck so pipes wouldn’t hit him, when to pause to catch her breath so she wouldn’t black out or fall.

Matilda finally got them back to the nest. It was so cold, she was shivering, and was having trouble making her hands do what she needed them to do. Her eyes kept trying to close, but the voice coaxed her to cover Tommy, to start the fire in the corner with the bits of wood she had carefully gathered over the previous year, to get the metal pot she gathered water in for drinking, warming over the fire, to get down the metal box.

As she went to put the lid back on, she caught the edge of the box, spilling the rest of their precious food on the floor. It was too much.

She fell onto the furs that Tommy was buried in, and burrowed down to him. He was so cold, she couldn’t tell if he was still alive. The voice receded as her eyes closed. She didn’t care about anything anymore. She was tired. So tired. She had gotten them here and whatever she had been doing, could wait.

She wasn’t sure what woke her, but she was suddenly wide awake. Her eyes strained at the silence around her. There was a snapping sound. Something was chewing. The memories of what she had been doing resurfaced, and the horror of what could be happening caused her to jump up, out of the warm blankets, and scramble across the floor.

Rats had been eating the scraps of meat she had dropped all over the floor. She scrambled to pick up what was left in the dim glow from the fire. There wasn’t much.

Picking up the box, she carefully placed the remaining meat inside and put the lid on firmly, before putting it back on the shelf. Shoving more of the precious wood into the fire, Matilda grabbed the pan of rat soup, that had miraculously not burned or boiled away, and climbed back into the bed. The nest was still warm from where she had been sleeping. Tommy was still unconscious, and she knew that time was running out. He had to eat something or he was going to die.