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

9

"Look at them, just like in the Glade."

Emily woke with a startle. She recognised the voice as being Minho's, but she didn't realise where she was until her eyes opened. Something was weighing her left hand down. Upon looking downwards, Emily realised that something was Newt's hand, clutching hers to his chest. Her head had rested on his shoulder while they slept, and this had clearly prompted Minho to tease them.

Emily looked up. Minho and Chuck were grinning like proper idiots as they admired the two. Emily quickly released her hand from Newt's grasp and struggled to her feet, still groggy from sleep. "He had a nightmare," she explained, rubbing her cheek.

Minho and Chuck nodded simultaneously, then looked at each other with a conspicuous air.

"The bloody hell?" Newt groaned, roused by the sounds. "What are you shanks doing here?" He stood and stretched, but not before offering Emily a nod. A form of greeting, perhaps, or maybe a way of telling her he hadn't forgotten last night's conversation.

Minho and Chuck's grins grew even bigger as Emily returned Newt's nod and said, "Good morning."

Chuck giggled, and Minho looked as though a slightly larger smile would tear his mouth apart. Before Newt could protest again, Minho wrapped his arm around Chuck's shoulders and began leading him towards the abandoned kitchen, all while whistling joyfully.

"What's going on with them?" Emily asked lightly, chuckling.

"They're insane." Newt sighed and ran a hand over his face. "But we're all bloody insane here."

Apparently, Minho had been the first to wake—Ella and Isabelle were still sleeping, and Thomas was on a stool at the kitchen table, stretching his sore neck.

"How was that bathtub, shank?" asked Newt as they walked into the kitchen, grabbing hold of Thomas's shoulders.

Thomas's reply was something between a groan and a profanity as he struggled to evade from Newt's grasp. Minho had taken to opening the dusty cabinets in search for anything edible, whereas Chuck was attempting to balance a small spoon on his nose and succeeding.

"Nothing?" Emily asked as Minho shut the last cabinet, looking defeated.

He shook his head. "Man, I miss Frypan and his cooking."

The boys fell silent, and Emily could feel their gazes upon her, waiting for some kind of reaction, hoping the name would stir something within her memories. Emily looked down at her dirty jeans, and then, to disrupt the silence, quietly said, "I miss warm baths."

"I miss our old hammocks," Chuck chimed in.

Thomas smiled, nostalgic. "I miss bonfire nights."

"Hell," Newt huffed, amused. "I miss getting pissed."

Everyone burst out laughing, and the contagious laughter eventually gave way to a comfortable silence.

"What now?" Emily asked.

"We need to find some food, and fast," Minho said. "As cozy as this"—He looked around, searching for the proper word—"cottage is, we can't stay here."

"I get it," Emily said. "But what then? Surely you must have a purpose for doing all of this."

The boys looked at each other, hesitating. Then, Newt said, "We know that somewhere, out there, there's a safe haven. We just gotta make it there before W.I.C.K.E.D catches up with us."

Emily reeled. "What do you mean, catches up with us?"

Minho lets out a short, dry laugh. "You didn't know? W.I.C.K.E.D has been hunting us down ever since we escaped from their hellish experiment. Safe to say we don't make very good friends in this respect."

"Why, though?"

Minho shrugged. "We don't know. But we're pretty sure they're even more intent on getting their hands on us now that you've rejoined our little party."

* * *

Before long, the other two girls awoke and the group was ready to head out, their stomachs empty and growling. The sun was as merciless as ever, and spotting a building soon became a rare occurrence, which could only mean an even worse fate for the night. Between the seven of them, their already low supply of water was quickly depleted during the day, and that meant yet another worry to add to their evergrowing list.

They walked. It was all they could do, helpless and unaware of how to get to this so-called safe haven the boys had confessed they knew of. Before long, the sunset had smeared the sky with bright oranges and reds. The temperature was quickly dropping, and there was no shelter in sight.

Emily's teeth had just started chattering when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. She found herself hoping—hoping the person drawing nearer was Newt—as she turned to face whoever was now at her side, but then Ella's hearty laughter echoed through the air and Emily knew he must be at her side.

"Hey," said Isabelle, arms wrapped around herself.

Emily shivered. "Hi."

"Where were you last night?" her sister asked nonchalantly.

Taken by surprise, Emily's answer failed to arrive on the spot. Finally, she responded, "Newt had a nightmare. I fell asleep at his side."

Isabelle cocked an eyebrow. "Huh. Nice of you to . . . comfort him."

Emily heard the things Isabelle wasn't saying. Her eyes widened. "There's nothing between me and Newt," she clarified.

Isabelle nodded, though she didn't seem entirely convinced.

Emily had, of course, speculated about her former relationships with the boys. They'd refused to tell her what types of bonds there had been, once upon a time, between them and her, in order for her not to feel pressured to maintain them even after the wiping of her memory. But Newt had avoided her the most—Newt had protected her the most. She couldn't help but wonder . . .

"Guys, look!" Minho shouted.

He was pointing towards the damaged silhouette of a building far ahead enough that Emily had to squint to properly see it. The group used the last of their energy to get to their newest temporary shelter—once, it had been a small gas station, but now that the roads were covered in sand and they were in the middle of nowhere, it was merely an empty husk. Once inside, the group started scouring the long aisles and behind the counter for any food. A yelp of triumph was soon heard, followed by Chuck's curly head popping up from behind a tall shelf, grasping an XXL pack of assorted beef jerky. The group figured that, most likely, someone had been forced to flee without the time to pack their supplies—leaving behind not only beef jerky, but also whole gallons of water and canned beans and peas and pineapple, which had the group cheering.

After a long feast that lifted everyone's spirits, accompanied by countless jokes and the boys singing some kind of hybrid between a shanty and a ballad, the group went to sleep, more satisfied than they'd been in days.