Months had passed, and it was very apparent that winter had come.
It was freezing. The air was dry, all the humidity in the cellar had turn into a layer of frost that coated every object. The smell of rancid fruit juice and feces hung in the air, still.
Dale had already gotten violently ill after was after eating decomposing shrivelled up lemons, He didn't need the smell making it worse. He breathed in and out, in and out, he knew one gag and it was all coming back up. He'd thought maybe if he ate enough of them he'd build a tolerance.
Wrong, very wrong, so wrong.
Earlier the boy had been a part of a group huddle to keep warm. It didn't last long, he'd accidentally vomited on Louie and Hugh and he'd been forced to sit on his own until he stopped being sick.
So now the feverish, trembling young man was left seething on the other side of the small underground factory, as close as possible to their singular outhouse.
Dale's frustration broiled up into a low growl.
Despite his constant worries that he might die, he hadn't yet. but he might this time. He might at any time. And if he did this time, It was on them.
His bitter thoughts halted when he felt the squeezing sensation of his salivary glands emptying. He swallowed it back like he always did, or he'd tried to, until he choked on the drool mid-gulp when a grotesque, nauseating feeling came over him, one that occurred when his insides were preparing for imminent release. His neck bristled with sweat, harsh against the surrounding cold atmosphere. He took quick, deep breaths through his mouth, trying to settle his gut as best he could, but the freezing air just made his lungs hurt.
And so despite his efforts, the feeling soon coagulated and his stomach was forced to lurch and spew its contents onto the ground. Even when he'd been completely emptied, he kept dry heaving, strings of spit hanging from his open mouth. His throat burned.
It stopped and the child was left hunched over the pool of sickness he'd created.
He noticed a fair bit of his nausea had left. He fell over, fatigued, sighing with releif. He didn't even feel hungry anymore. His body still hurt, and his fingers were still numb from the cold, but it was better.
Dale put his hand over his nose and blew it until the leftover mucus started to run out, searing the walls of his nasal cavity. He wiped his hand off on the icy rock wall, shuddering.
He tried to find a comfortable position for his trembling, aching body, which proved useless but exhaustion overtook him, and he fell alseep anyways.
He'd been forced awake. Small cold hands gripped his shoulders, shaking him like a yogurt. Dale blinked, the haze of sleep slowly melting away as he was brought back to reality. The cold, harsh reality.
Aw, man. He hated this reality.
Coming into view was Sidney, looking more distraught than normal. Bad dream? He wondered. It wouldn't be the first time He'd been woken up for that.
"Dale! You're awake!" His friend whisper-yelled, so close he could feel his breath on his forehead. Dale pushed boys face away from his, grumbling "I need you to look at Louie" Sidney continued "I think he might be dead."
The curly haired boy sat up, suddenly fully alert. "What?" He croaked.
Sidney tugged at his arm, trying to pull Dale onto his feet. He got up joints cracking, and let the shorter one lead him to the scene.
He took Louies' hand in his own. Their body was cold, unresponsive. Did this meant they were dead, though? Or were they just in a deep sleep? Dale wouldn't know, but being the oldest, he knew that the others were depending on him for the answer.
He leaned over and slapped their face. Which made Hugh and Sidney flinch and look at him like he was screwy. Louie, however, did not react. Something a dead person would probably do.
"So? Are they dead?" Hugh asked, a little desperate for an answer at that point.
Dale stood up from his crouching position next to the body "I- I think so." He responded.
"You think? I need a straight answer!"
"Well what you want from me, I'm not a doctor for crying out loud!" Dale snapped back.
"Lets just say they're dead, okay?" Sidney interjected. "If so, now what?"
Neither of them had an answer to that.
Dale looked back down at Louie, who laid in an uncomfortable looking position.
When someone was dead, were they even themselves anymore? or were they just flesh? They didn't look like flesh, they looked like Louie. But that wasn't true anymore, They were just a bag of meat in the shape of a person.
He thought on that for a moment. He could hear Hugh and Sidney talking on their own, they probably were thinking the same thing as he was.
Whether they could eat it.
And so, they wouldnt mind, right? If he decided to... Crouch down and...
His fingernails dug into the skin of their arm, deep as they could, it was tough, much harder to sink into than a rats was. He yanked, trying to pull the meat off of its bone. C'mon you stupid thing! He tugged at it harder, frustration and hunger aiding, egging him on.
He could feel the others eyes on him, they didn't stop him. In fact, once coming to a mutual agreement, they went down and helped him, holding the arm down while he gradually ripped off as much matter as he could. The arm looked so alive, the blood was dark and rich, he felt queasy at the sight. Not enough to stop him. He put tiny bits into his mouth, swallowing them whole like he did with all of his food. Hugh and Sidney stuck their hands in, tearing their own pieces off. He knew it, they needed this just as bad as he did.
That was the first night he'd eaten his fill in a very, very long time.