Birthright

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

(Sorry for taking forever! This chapter is a little less uneventful, but it'll pick up in the future. Thanks as always!)

Kray observed the light of the sun hit the barred window above him at different angles throughout the day, marking the passage of time. Morning bathed the room in a golden hue, setting dust motes on fire. By noon the sun had migrated higher in the sky, which allowed less sunlight into the room, but the whole building was cooking by then. It was the heat of the Wasteland: it caressed everything with its burning touch, and Kray had learned early on that he could either get used to it or drive himself mad trying to avoid its intensity.

Kray and Alex were alone inside the bank. Once the Crimsons had confirmed her identity, they'd shackled them with iron chains on opposite sides of the room and left them there alone. Under normal circumstances Kray wouldn't have minded the reprieve; it would mean more time to catch their breath and think of a plan. But things weren't looking so good for Alex. Her face, already pale from pain and blood loss, was covered in a sheen of sweat. There were dark shadows under her eyes and her lips were bruised and chafed.

She was breathing unevenly. Her chest wound was healing just fine: she'd checked the bandages to make sure it wasn't infected. And she was too clammy-looking to be feelings the effects of heat exhaustion. And as far as he could tell, the scuffle she'd had with the Crimsons yesterday hadn't caused any serious injuries.

There was only one other reason why she was like this. That nasty burn-out mark on her stomach was doing damage internally. His suspicion was confirmed when she got up on her knees at some point and bent over to throw up. There wasn't anything in her stomach because the Crimsons hadn't fed them at all, so it was mostly dry-heaving.

Kray hated feeling helpless, so he wrapped a length of the chain around his forearm and gave it a powerful tug, trying to break the metal bar bolted to the wall next to him. It didn't budge. He paused to inhale a shuddering breath before he yelled, "Hey, assholes! The least you can do is give us some water!"

"Don't waste your energy," Alex said in a soft voice, wiping her mouth. She sat on the floor again and leaned her back against the fading pattered wallpaper. "They're not going to come."

"Yeah?" His tone was a contrast to hers: rough and acidic. "Why's that?"

"Because we're prisoners," she answered, aiming a look at him that said it was the most obvious thing in the world. "They call the shots."

It set him off. "So what the hell are you suggesting? We sit on our asses and wait for them to kill us? Maybe then you can have your honorable death."

Alex's jaw tightened and her eyes flashed a deeper gold, but she didn't respond. Kray swallowed the bitter lump in his throat. He wasn't angry at her. Everything else felt distant and unimportant when he had to watch Alex struggle with an incurable disease that was going to destroy her organs until she died.

"I'm sorry," Kray murmured.

The chain scraped across the floor when Alex stretched out her shackled leg and bent the other, dangling her arm over her knee. "My brother hates me," she said out of nowhere. "I didn't tell you about him when we were kids because I was ashamed."

"I didn't know that," he answered, surprised.

"He was my hero." She gave a wistful smile that softened her features. "This amazing, larger-than-life person. He had so many sponsors and events growing up, but somehow, he always found time for me. We'd drink hot chocolate every Wednesday night on the balcony and he'd tell me stories about what he'd done and seen. What he wanted to do."