Stolen Lives: A LitRPG/GameLit Novel (The Underhill Chronicles Book 1)

by Keith Ahrens

  “So, we can't even really be sure of who killed Sylvia,” Olivia states. “We only know someone in one of those wagons did it, with help, of course.”

  “Okay, this doesn't change much yet. Let’s get our wagons off the road. I want you guys to lay low until Jesse and I get back. We're going ahead to do some recon. It’s just a quick look, so if you hear gunshots, then shit has gone sideways. If we don't return by sundown, fall back deeper into the woods, cold camp only, no fires. If we're not here by morning, then assume we're dead, and you're on your own.” Haynes stays silent for a few moments, looking at each of us. Then he nods to Jesse, and they turn to their horses and ride off back toward the lake.

  “Good luck! And be careful!” Grayson calls after them.

  We get the wagons off the road into a convenient grove of willow trees. This might fool a casual passerby, but certainly not someone looking for us. Better than nothing, I guess. The others set to work gathering branches and leaves, anything to help camouflage the wagons.

  I climb back into the wagon and wait a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. Jimmy's still asleep; thank you, morphine, but Thorn is up and waiting for me.

  “Caleb, Nian is worse. Every bounce and jostle of the accursed wagon digs that arrowhead deeper in, slicing more vital organs. We have to act soon, lest we lose him completely,” Thorn says without preamble. Not one for small talk, but at least she didn't call me 'Stupid One' again.

  “I don't know, Thorn. I've seen things like this done, but I've never done anything like this before. Maybe if we wait—”

  “Wait for what? Until we pass the gate? Maybe take him to one of your human physickers? What do you think they'll do with a half-man, half-dog creature?”

  “Physicians,” I correct her absently. “Shit. I guess you're right. Let’s get some help to move him outside where there's at least some light.”

  I call Grayson and Thirax over and try to explain what we are planning on doing. The Berserker looks uneasy about our plan.

  “Um, not to be a jerk, but are you sure you two can do this? I'm not a doctor or nothing, but neither are you. This sure sounds like major surgery to me,” he says.

  I don't reply for a minute, attempting to gather my thoughts before they suddenly pour out undeservedly in a flood of fear and frustration on Grayson, “Nope, not sure at all. But what we do know is, he'll die if we don't do anything. If we just heal him, that arrowhead will just tear his insides up all over again, and he dies anyway. If we try to remove the arrow... I can't tell you the outcome at all. And the possibility of him not surviving is staggeringly high no matter what we do or don't do. So, no, I'm not sure. Hell, I sure as fuck don't want to do this… to be responsible for this, but we're not exactly spoiled for choices now, are we?” My voice is harsh as I draw in a ragged breath and run a hand through my matted hair.

  “Whoa, calm down, Caleb. I was just asking.”

  “Shit. I'm sorry, man. That wasn't meant for you.”

  He claps a large hand on my shoulder. “Don't worry, Doc, it’s already forgotten.” Grayson smiles at me, and I notice for the first time that some of his teeth are broken off and missing.

  “He will die, or he won't. The pack will be stronger, or it will mourn his howl. You must make the attempt, Human. Do this for the pack, Elf.” Thirax nods to both of us. Then he and Grayson move Nian onto a blanket and carry him outside and lay him down in a small patch of muted sunshine.

  “I wish we had more time to prepare. I am near exhaustion. Do you still have any healing stones left?” Thorn asks in a low voice so the others can’t hear.

  I shake my head no. She sighs and gives me a look of disappointment. Then she squares her shoulders, takes a deep breath, and nods to me.

  I look around. “Miles, go to other wagon and start tearing any thick cloth you can find into small bandages. Try to get white or light-colored cloth. Des, I need you to hold this penlight and point it where I direct you in case we need more light.”

  I open my small trauma kit and take out what little gauze pads and bandages I have and set them next to Nian. Next, I pull out a small scalpel and two hemostats. Usually, we use these things for cutting and clamping umbilical cords during an emergency childbirth, but I guess they'll work just fine for this.

  “Thorn, I need you to keep him unconscious and stop any bleeding as we go. Can you do both at the same time?”

  “I… I think so, but not for long. We must be quick.”

  I look at her skeptically. “I'll try, but the faster I go, the more bleeding there will be…”

  Without further discussion, Thorn begins a light, rhythmic chant as she puts her hand on Nian's forehead. I remove his armor and the padding underneath. It's saturated with blood and sticks to the wound. I see the nub of wood from the arrow's shaft just about even with his skin. I have to assume the arrow continued to spin as it entered his body, so I'm going to have to open up the area around the wound a bit to make room for the arrowhead to get pulled out.

  “Des, keep an eye on his Hit Points." I make sure Nian's arm is turned up so he can easily see his stats. "Let me know if they start to get low.”

  I take a deep breath and tighten my grip on the scalpel, not to stop a shaking hand, just to get a better grip. I think back to all the anatomy classes with all the different dissections I've done and every autopsy and surgery I've observed. Without further ado, I pierce the skin with the rounded head of the surgical blade and cut a deep, long line.

  Nian's body twitches, and he whimpers a little, like a dog that’s having a bad dream. I glance at Thorn, but she's already chanting harder and a little faster. His blood flows slower than I expect, and his skin is still ice cold from Thorn's spell. I wipe the wound with a gauze pad and slide my finger down the arrow's shaft.

  I get to the last knuckle on my index finger when I feel a smooth piece of metal. Blood pools in the incision and blocks my view of anything.

  “Des, mop up some of this blood, quick.”

  He tries, with shaking fingers, but manages to wipe most of it up. I widen the hole with my fingers and slide a hemostat down and clamp it onto the arrowhead. For those of you who don't know, a hemostat is a clamp-like tool that locks in place, normally used to clamp off blood vessels or things like that. Right now, it's holding that damn arrowhead in place so I can cut around it.

  I cut more tissue and muscle out of the way to try and see the edges of the metal. No good, blood begins gushing in, pumping in rhythm with his heart.

  “Thorn, I need you to lock down that bleeder,” I say with what I hope is a steady voice. I grab some gauze and stuff it in the wound, trying to put some pressure on it. Her chanting gets more rapid and louder. Her breathing is harsh, and her face looks paler than usual.

  “His tattoo is less than half-red now; it just dropped a lot,” Des says, worry thick in his voice.

  The bleeding slows and then stops. “Good job, Thorn, keep it up,” I mutter as I make another cut to the other side of the arrowhead. I push more meat and tissue out of the way and see a bit of crimson red, thick tissue. Damn it.

  The arrowhead is in the liver. This is one of the worst-case scenarios I was dreading. The liver is extremely vascular. That means, wherever I cut, it's gonna bleed bad and be hard to control.

  I look at Thorn. Her shoulders are slumping and beads of sweat are running down her face.

  “Hey, Caleb, his Hit Points are down to almost a quarter and dropping even quicker now…” Des says in a quiet voice.

  I wipe the sweat off my own face with my sleeve and stop to think. If we keep going, Thorn will pour all her own energy into healing Nian, to the point where she could die. If we stop now, Nian will die; but if we don't, Thorn may die. Can we chance losing Nian and Thorn? I know what she would say, but I make the choice for her.

  I move forward with the only decision I can. I have to think of what’s best for everyone. And I hate myself for what I must do now.

  “Thorn is too weak; we can't risk her
too. I think she has to stop,” I say with regret in my voice. I know this will kill Nian. “I'll keep trying, but I don't think it’s likely he'll survive. You guys might have to hold him down if he wakes up.”

  Thorn's chant stutters and falters for a moment as she tries to protest and keep healing at the same time. She gasps for breath for a moment, sweat beading on her brow. I can almost feel her pain and anger at me.

  “Now, wait a sec; we can't just let him die. Lemme try something,” Des says as he drops the bloody gauze in his hands. He gets up and jogs around the patient and kneels down behind Thorn. He puts a hand on the base of her neck and closes his eyes, concentrating.

  I study the elf's face. Already, I see some color coming back to her lips and cheeks. Not a lot, but enough to give me hope. I mop up the blood again and see no more seeping in. I'm not sure how Des did it, but I think he just bought Nian and Thorn some more time. I jump back in, attempting to move faster.

  I concentrate on what I'm doing. More cutting, more digging. Trying to uncover the barbs of the arrow and loosen it from the organ. I run out of gauze and begin to use the rags that Miles cut for me. Good thing we don't have to worry about infection; the magic seems to take care of that somehow.

  The bleeding gets worse for a moment, and I hear Des gasp out loud, as if in pain. I glance up and see Olivia kneeling down beside him and putting her hand on the back of his neck. She closes her eyes, and a moment later, Des's expression eases a bit.

  I go back to cutting. I now understand why Civil War doctors were called butchers. That’s what I feel like right now, clumsily hacking through delicate tissue that should never see daylight.

  After what feels like an hour or two, I make a final cut and see that I've cleared both sides of the barbed arrowhead. I hold the gaping wound open with one hand and slide my fingers around the arrowhead and pull. It pops loose with a slight sucking noise, and I feel it cut my index and middle fingers on its razor-sharp edge.

  Blood sprays up with a renewed vigor, hitting me in the face. I toss the arrowhead aside and begin stuffing rags into the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. Now some of you might be thinking, "why isn't he heating up a knife and burning it shut? That always works in the movies!" Well, that’s called 'cauterizing,' and in the real world, it only works on small areas and not on organs like this liver. Cauterizing would burn the organ, and then it'd break off, causing more bleeding and damage. Rambo can stick a hot knife in all the bullet holes he wants, but it doesn't mean it really works.

  Blood and sweat run freely down my face. Nian's bleeding faster than I can mop it up to see where it’s coming from. “Shit, shit, shit…” I must have hit a big artery. I can't find it; otherwise, I'd be able to clamp it off with the hemostat, but there's too much blood. My hands are now slipping off the tissue, and I grab more rags, but it’s not enough. I watch the tissue around it getting paler and paler. He's gonna bleed out soon, and I can't find the damn artery…

  Suddenly, I become aware of Thorn's voice, loud, clear, and calm. Her chanting is getting stronger with each word. I watch in disbelief as the blood seems to absorb back into the muscle and tissue. Everything starts to warm up, and I begin to feel heat radiating from the wound.

  I stare dumbly for a moment while I watch the torn and lacerated liver knit itself back together. I snap out of it just in time to scoop a bloody rag out of the wound before the tissue reconnects and seals itself, layer by layer. Destroyed muscle regenerates before my eyes until finally, I watch the scalpel cuts reverse themselves. The hole the arrow made in the flesh closes up into a small pink scar.

  I see Nian's chest rise and fall with each steady breath. I exhale, letting out the deep breath I didn't know I was holding, and look at Thorn. And past her.

  Behind Thorn is Des, and behind him, all kneeling and head down, as if praying, is everyone else. Each person has placed their hand on the nape of the next person's neck and the person behind them, forming a loose fan shape. Thirax, Olivia, Miles, Grayson, Colt, and Vince. All banded together to share their energy with Thorn and Nian. Like a series of living batteries, everyone gave a little so no one had to give all.

  I sit back on my heels and feel tears of relief and pride in my friends and companions. I pick up the arrowhead and hold it up for everyone to see.

  A loud whoop of pure joy comes from Grayson, and everyone else joins in. Then one by one, most everyone sags down to the ground in a shared, relieved exhaustion.

  Nian continues to sleep, but now it’s a more restful, natural sleep. Thorn stops the spell and lets him warm up in the dwindling sunshine. His tattoo now shows full red without a hint of black.

  21

  Hours go by, and the sun sinks lower toward the horizon. I begin to worry about Haynes and Jesse, but there's not much we can do but wait.

  Thorn has foraged some berries and nuts, but these will only help her and maybe the Gnolls. It's food from the Fey Realm. Useless for us humans.

  Overall, Thorn seems well and in good spirits, despite the incredible amount of energy she poured into healing. Everyone seems okay right now, even Jimmy. Thorn was able to spend some time and heal his arm a bit. I guess she still had a little juice left from the group. She can't grow him a new hand and forearm, but at least he's in no danger from bleeding or infection.

  Miles and Grayson, with some help from Colt and Des, work on modifying a shield to stay securely on Jimmy's arm. I like that they are optimistic about this and proactive. They get pretty creative with what little they have to work with. I'd love to see what they could do with a full workshop.

  Meanwhile, I find a small creek that feeds to the lake and use it to clean the spattered blood and sweat from my face. I take a small chance and remove some armor and clothing from my leg and chest to wash away the dirt and my own blood from various injuries.

  Damn, this has been a rough day. I'm aching all over and bruised from head to toe. I still have the shallow cut across my abdomen, but it’s not too bad; it's clean and not bleeding. I wrap a mostly clean rag over the wound and around my waist before I get dressed again. My t-shirt has seen better days. I think the rag is more intact than my shirt is at this point. Oh, well. In a perfect world... in my world, I'll be able to get a new one soon.

  Des has been making himself useful in my absence. We know a fire would give away our position, so he's worked around that. The group piled together a few large stones, and Des is kneeling next to them with his eyes closed and his right hand outstretched, barely touching the nearest rock. This rock is already glowing a dull red from the absorbed heat. It seems his grasp of magic is getting better by the day, even the hour. I guess it’s from more use, just like any exercise.

  Des makes his way slowly around the pile, heating each rock until it radiates a comfortable warmth. When he's done, he sits back, breathing a little heavy, but with a satisfied smile on his face. Everyone gathers around and basks in the warmth emanating from the newly heated pile. Damp clothing and cold armor begin to dry.

  This goes a long way to boosting morale again. Now if we only had some food.

  Just then, I hear hoofbeats coming down the road. I curse out loud as I realize we never set up a watch. This could either be our guys coming back or more elves in pursuit. And here we are, caught flat-footed.

  Everyone scrambles for their weapons; I pull my pistol and hunker down behind a tree. I see Vince across the clearing putting an arrow to the string of his bow. I pull the hammer back on the .38 and get ready.

  Three horses make their way slowly down the small trail. The wagons must have left tracks a blind man could follow. I sight down the barrel and wait for a clear shot.

  “Thirax! Desmond! Caleb! We're back,” Haynes' voice echoes through the clearing. I lower the gun and de-cock the hammer. I stand up and turn around and let out a little yelp. I almost bumped right into Jesse. Wow, I never even heard him walk up behind me. He just stands there, calm as ever, looking at me.

  “Aye, lad. Just making sure that iron didn'
t send any hot lead into our Sergeant,” he says with a sly smile as he nods to my pistol. At the same time, I can't help but notice the revolver held up in his left hand. He follows my gaze and spins the pistol once and smoothly holsters it. He walks past me with a friendly pat on the shoulder. What the hell? I really can't figure this guy out, and again, I'm reminded that he is probably insane. And dangerous. And now with more firepower.

  We all regroup at the wagons. Haynes dismounts and hitches three horses to the closest wagon. Greetings get exchanged, and Haynes walks to the third horse.

  “Thought y'all might be a bit hungry,” he says with a big smile. Reaching up and taking down the saddlebags, he pulls out several MREs and begins passing them around. Everyone grabs one and tears into them like the starving people we are. Haynes puts the rest of the food in the back of the wagon the horses are hitched to.

  “Where did these come from?” asks Olivia, with just a hint of suspicion.

  “Just get to eating, I got a few things to tell y'all,” replies Haynes.

  “Hey. Anyone want to trade?” I ask as I stare down at a plate of cold chicken chunks. I get no takers, so I sigh and begin shoveling the food in as fast as I can chew.

  A few minutes pass in silence as we all eat with gusto. Finally, Haynes breaks the silence.

  “All right, folks. We discovered these MREs in a stockpile just inside a wooden lean-to about a half-mile down the trail. They were unguarded, but there were a lot of fresh tracks in and around the area. We also found the other wagon abandoned there near the trail marker of skulls on a rotten pole, by the way.”

  He notices a few quizzical looks. “They marked the trailhead by mounting a few skulls on a rotten wooden pole fixed into the ground. Try to keep up, people. We saw multiple prints leading off into the woods. Too many for us to follow right then. The lean-to there is just a stockpile and staging area for forays into our world. Further down the trail, about a quarter-mile, is our objective—a fortified cave. It's heavily guarded by ogres and goblins with a stockade wall across the entrance. We need a plan to either try to fight our way through the guards or somehow get them to leave so we can get past that wall.”