Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
I look around me once more before I go to fetch it, but I’m all alone.
I take the bird back to the cave and clean it quickly and efficiently with my knife, then wash my hands. I have to risk a damn fire if I’m going to eat this bird, so I decide I’ll do it at a good distance away from the cave. Far enough that whoever tracks it here won’t notice the shelter I’ve made.
My stomach aches and gnaws, my mouth watering at the mental image of roasted meat.
By the time I’m roasting the meat, the sun’s high and bright overhead, beating down with relentless heat. My mouth feels papery and dry. Damn it, I need to get more water.
I turn the roasting meat over the flame, then freeze when I hear the sound of snapping twigs. I look quickly behind me, my slingshot in hand, when Will steps into my line of vision, hands raised in surrender. Fucking Will, the most selfish of the bunch, the last to agree to band with us. He’s tall and lanky, with ragged black hair and a beard that would make our former drill sergeant lose his fucking mind. We were made to be clean shaven in the Navy. Here it’s impossible.
I don’t trust him. I put a rock in the sling and hold it in front of me, prepared to shoot. I will fucking kill him if he’s here to attack me.
It didn’t used to be like this. It didn’t fucking used to be like this. When food was plentiful and we all got along, we were like brothers in arms with one another.
But now…
“What do you want?” I demand. I’m ready to kill this man if he steps one toe out of line.
“Easy,” Will says. His eyes shoot to the meat roasting by the fire and he swallows hard. “I’m not here to fight,” he says, taking a step toward me.
“Don’t fucking move or I’ll shoot you with this.”
He scoffs. “As if you could really use that thing to hurt me anyway.”
“Sure as fuck could. David used it to slay Goliath. And I just used it to catch my dinner, which you’re totally welcome to go do on your own.” He doesn’t know the slingshot would only bring him down, but the knife would slit his throat.
“Jesus, man,” he says, shaking his head at me. “I’ll help you catch more, but give a brother a little to hold him over?”
I growl, the snarling sound coming from my own throat startling in its intensity. Who the fuck am I becoming?
Son of a bitch.
“Listen, Cy,” he says, his hands palm-up, his eyes wide and pleading. He’s almost convincing, the son of a bitch.
“What,” I bite out.
“Eugene’s gone batshit crazy, man. I swear to fucking God he doesn’t even know how to talk like a human anymore. He’s a rabid animal.” He shakes his head. “The only way we can survive at this point is to join together, me and you.”
“Join together?” I scoff. “Right. Just like we did with the others, right? Before we lost everything and turned on each other? Before I had to sleep with one eye open, afraid that someone would slit my throat in the middle of the night, so we had one less mouth to feed? Hell no.”
His eyes grow narrow on me and he swallows hard, eyeing the food by the fire. “I’ll fight you for it.”
What the fuck.
“Fight me for it? Are you a fucking moron?”
Though he’s smaller than I am, he’s ruthless and lethal, like a crazed rodent, and I swear it might be my hunger that’s making me imagine this, but right then, he actually looks like a rat, his eyes beady and his nose twitching at the scent of the food before us.
“Get your own food.” I’m standing my ground.
With a low, feral growl, he lunges, not for me, but for the fire. I leap after him and grab his leg just before he reaches the flames. Howling, he kicks his leg out and catches my jaw, pain radiating along my skin.
“You fucking bastard,” I growl, my own voice vicious and snarling, and my instincts take over. I’ve got the son of a bitch. I drag him toward me and deck him, enjoying the satisfying feel of my fist connecting with his jaw. I hit him a second time, then a third, and actually give myself mental permission to beat him to death, until his pulse stops beating and he lies dead.
One less person on this island, one less person fighting me for survival, makes it that much easier to live.
I hit him again and again, until his lip splits open, crimson blood staining his cheeks and my fists.
“Okay! I’m sorry!” he screams, and this time he’s crying, real tears falling down his cheeks like a goddamn baby. I’m kneeling above him, his wrists pinned in my fists, and his eyes come to mine. A flicker of humanity gives me pause.