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

14

Minho had been right—just down the corridor, they'd come across ten pod-like bedrooms, each only a few feet long and containing a single bed. To the group's indescribable joy, they discovered that the last pod wasn't a pod at all, but a closet stocked with non-perishable foods: whole-wheat crackers, peanut butter, bags of trail mixes and dried fruits, granola bars, canned chickpeas and carrots and beans, and, on the lowest shelf, gallons and gallons of water.

The boys went to the bathroom to wash, urged by the three girls to hurry so that they could eat sooner rather than later. 

Emily claimed one of the small bedrooms, and set her backpack at the foot of the bed. The bath, though ice-cold, had been the most relaxing thing since . . . she couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been on high alert. A deep kind of fatigue was starting to set in, weighing her entire body down—Emily hoped she'd be able to stay awake long enough to get some food in her system, not having eaten anything in the past day or so. Again, she was reminded of how infuriating it was to not be able to keep track of time.

Someone knocked at her door. Since it was made of solid steel, Emily couldn't discern who the person on the other side was—but she had a vague idea of who it could be. "Yeah?"

Ella's head peeked through. She sounded about as reticent as she looked. "May I come in?"

Emily stood from the edge of her bed. "What for?"

In reply, Ella poked her arm through the crack in the doorway, revealing a bundle of gauze clutched in her hand. 

For a split moment, Emily felt like an asshole. She bit the inside of her cheek and then bowed her head. 

Ella stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. She gestured for Emily to sit down, then did so herself. 

Warily, Emily rolled up the sleeve of her bitten arm and extended it towards Ella. With utmost care, the other girl pulled it closer and began unwrapping the old, damp bandage. 

The sight had Emily's breath hissing through her nose. The wound was undeniably infected, its edges red and throbbing, starkly contrasting with the centre of it, which was so dark it was reminiscent of an abyss. The veins surrounding the bite had turned black as well, tendrils of ink trailing up Emily's forearm, past her elbow now, and down into her palm. Ella swore quietly. 

"How much longer?" asked Emily, though she didn't trust Ella, though she already knew.

"It seems to have been spreading slowly. I don't think it's in your bloodstream yet. A week, if you're lucky," Ella whispered. The continuation she didn't voice hung heavy between them: and there's nothing you can do to stop it. 

In a dreadful kind of silence, Ella finished bandaging the wound, securing the gauze with a tight knot. However, she didn't immediately stand. "Aren't you going to tell them?" she gently asked.

"No," came Emily's unwavering answer. 

"Why?"

Emily stood abruptly. "Look, I appreciate your help, but that doesn't mean we're friends. And if you tell them anything"—She pinned Ella with a glare both cool and fierce—"don't think for one second I'll hesitate to take you down with me."

Ella got up from the bed and only nodded once before she left, and Emily hoped her warning would be enough. She lay in the bed, biting back a pleased groan when her head hit the pillow. She closed her eyes and focused on the breaths rasping in her throat, thoughts running wild. She'd hoped . . . she could just . . . she wouldn't . . .