Our W.I.C.K.E.D Fate (The W.I.C.K.E.D Girl sequel)

10

A gentle gust of wind blew through the tall grass, threatening to steal the flowers woven in Emily's hair. Her laugh echoed in the boy's chest as he grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips.

"You saved us," he whispered.

Emily met his gaze, her smile lighting up her eyes. "You saved me."

Emily jolted awake. Somebody was shaking her, quite insistently.

"What?" she snapped, the dregs of the dream fading from her mind.

Ella let go of Emily's arm. "We've got to go," she said. "Minho says the Cranks have been following us."

Emily stood, taking in the frantic packing of the boys. She frowned. "I thought we got rid of them all?"

"So did I," Minho said from behind her, handing Emily her backpack. "Until a shriek woke me up a couple of minutes ago."

Emily looked through her backpack for her gun, checked the ammo. Four bullets. Not enough, if what Minho claimed was really true.

"Remember, silent and quick," Newt instructed, once everyone was gathered in front of the gas station doors. "Hang onto your ammo as much as you can. We need to get as far from this place as possible."

As the group made their way through the deep darkness—Emily assumed the sunrise was still a few hours away—Emily's mind was overtaken by flashes from her dream. No matter how hard she focused, she couldn't make out the face of the boy who'd been beside her, nor pinpoint his voice. She glanced over her shoulder to where, a couple of paces behind her, Newt was frowning as he listened to whatever Ella was whispering to him. As though bound to her, he looked up and caught Emily's gaze. She quickly turned around. In front of her and Isabelle, Thomas and Minho were flanking Chuck, weapons gripped tightly.

"What's wrong?" Isabelle asked.

Emily shook her head, just once. "Nothing. Except for the fact that we're always running."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Emily glared at her sister. "Why?"

"You look . . . thoughtful," Isabelle mused. "Like you're trying to make a choice."

The accuracy of Isabelle's words made Emily not want to reply. In truth, wasn't she always choosing? Whether to stay or to leave, whether to speak out or not . . .

A distant holler cut through the air. The group froze, the adrenaline coursing through their veins heightening their senses.

"Hurry up," Thomas mouthed.

But then the holler sounded again, this time accompanied by a deep rumble like that of thunder-filled clouds. The scream ceased, yet the rumble persisted, growing stronger with each fleeting moment.

"Guys, what's that?" asked Chuck, his voice trembling.

"I don't know." Minho was shaking his head, looking skyward. "But something tells me we should run."

And the group did. But the rumble only became louder, deafening even—Emily's head whipped back and she realised what the source of the noise had been.

A massive, metal ship was descending to the ground, almost upon them now, its engine making the earth underneath their feet shake. One of the boys shouted something, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of the ship. Despite the blinding lights that were shining upon the group, Emily managed to make out what was inscribed on the side of the aircraft in white paint.

W.I.C.K.E.D.

Emily's stomach lurched. She lunged for Isabelle's hand—she'd been staring at the ship, eyes wide—and began running, her lungs and muscles aching with the effort.

And then she hit the ground, hard. Someone yelled her name and a silhouette was sprinting her way, but something had wrapped itself around her leg and was pulling her backwards.

Towards the ship.

Emily struggled to break free, trying to reach for her knife. Her left foot was tangled in a black, vicious cable as thick as her arm, its silver claws digging into her skin. A sharp pain shot up her calf, and her skin was on fire. Emily screamed.

And then the cord was yanked upwards and the last thing Emily saw before the darkness came was another cable shooting past her and towards the six remaining members of the group.