Page 44 of Hunt Me (The Skulls #1)

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Fauna

‘Y ou stupid cow! Get the door shut and the room ready. ’ A screeching voice stirs me from my grogginess. ‘ They ’ re coming. Don ’ t be stupid and get us killed. I want him to find them with her. ’

‘ What are you… No, I don ’ t want—’

‘ Quit whining, ’ the watery voice screeches again, and the distinct sound of a slap rings out.

My eyelids take some time to respond to my brain ’ s instructions. They are heavy and swollen as they struggle to open, but when they finally do, a small part of my stomach sinks.

Two filthy women stand at the end of a small room, arguing. An oil burner sits on a small table next to them, illuminating the room's decorations. Rugs cover the concrete flooring, and tapestries hang across the walls. The distinct smell of dampness and mould choaks the room.

Rapid movement from the doorway draws my attention back to them, and I recognise one of the women. She ’ s the one that attacked me, twice. Her forearm is still wrapped tightly around her midsection, and her skin looks clammy and green despite the orange hues from the lamp.

‘ Stop it. Get out! Just get out, ’ the smaller of the two pleads.

The one who is half dressed must be the one this room belongs to, her purple robe more in fitting with the brightly coloured decorations.

She somehow looks cleaner despite living in the sewers.

Her skin looks red and irritated, almost as if she has scrubbed it raw, and instead of dirt and boils like the others, it seems like every touch is scorching her.

The young woman looks so out of place compared to the rest of the people down here.

Mag, the one that took me, pulls a weapon and my stomach churns as I look over the sharpened bone. She waves it threateningly in her right hand.

‘ Listen to me, you whiney slut. We ’ ve let you live here because you sort them out but don ’ t think I won ’ t fucking cut you to pieces if you don ’ t listen to me. ’

Sort them out?

They stand silently, challenging one another for a moment. Just as I think the one in the purple robes gives in, she screams, reaching desperately to knock the weapon out of Mag ’ s hand. Their bodies smack against either side of the door, moving too quickly for me to make out what is going on.

I take the distraction as my opportunity to escape, but a quick look around shows only one entrance and exit, the one right next to my very angry abductor.

I groan; how do I get myself in these situations?

Mag gets the upper hand, her frame easily overpowering the smaller woman as she knocks her to the floor, slicing the sharpened bone across her cheek. I expect the girl to wince, but she doesn ’ t even blink at the abuse; she just watches as the woman ’ s irritation grows.

‘ He done this to me, ’ Mag gestures to her weeping stomach and I consider who she could be.

Is she one of the people Ruaridh and I had run into when we were in the sewers a few days ago?

It's safe to say the apocalypse only made people more vengeful.

How long had she been following us for her to find me?

Had she been there the entire time? I curse myself for being too lax about feeling like I was being followed.

It is my fault she found me and the girls. My fault she attacked Isla.

‘ I took his bitch to pay. You should be thanking me, you useless whore. Another hole for them to fuck, should be grateful! ’ Mag continues as she waves her blade around the room.

‘ I gave you this place, and now I ’ m giving you her.

I should give you both to them for you being such an ungrateful cunt! ’

The girl winces ever so slightly at her words and instantly my blood boils as I let my anger consume me.

Not only has this disgusting excuse of a human hurt my best friend, my pregnant best friend, but she has been hurting this girl as well.

She ’ s probably hurt countless women in unspeakable ways.

I grab a stool close to a pile of blankets made up like a bed, not allowing myself to look too deeply at what I now know this room is used for. I charge towards the bitch that brought me here just as the girl lurches for my attacker, some fight still in her.

Mag halts her movements as her attention becomes stuck between two different directions as my screaming draws her attention. Mag doesn ’ t have time to react as I smash the stool across her face; her hands are gripped by the girl who watches with pain burning behind her eyes.

Bloodied spit splatters the door as I bring the stool back, ready to hit Mag again and again.

My head pounds with each movement, and my battered muscles protest, but I don ’ t allow myself to stop. I don ’ t know how I ’ m going to get out of here, how I ’ m going to get back to my group.

‘ Fuck. You. ’ I scream into the now unrecognisable face.

What if the girls are in trouble? What if this evil bitch did something to them.

My breaths shorten, and the pounding of my erratic heartbeat drowns out the pain in my head.

I need to get back to them.

The girl, the other woman.

My palm grabs the discarded dagger, and I spin to face the woman.

Her hands are held up in surrender, and I notice the chain linked between them, ‘ no, no, I ’ m not—’ She stutters.

I shouldn ’ t ask. I know the answer before the question even leaves my mouth.

‘ What did she mean? When she said…’ I assess her, not lowering my weapon.

‘ Don ’ t make me say it, ’ her voice cracks slightly, and she clutches her robe to her chest.

Sickness pools in my stomach, as I know for sure. The chains wrapped around her, the purple robe being the only thing she is wearing, her green and purple bruised legs peeking out from beneath.

Her dead eyes.

‘ What ’ s your name? ’

She doesn ’ t answer. Just stares at me, face devoid of any emotion.

‘ Do you know a way out? ’ I ask, trying my hardest to add a softness to my voice that I do when speaking to some of the girls in my group, but my desperation is clear.

She nods, ‘ think yeh. ’

I grab a hold of her wrist and pull her to the door. Her body stiffens at the touch, but I don ’ t have time to do anything but drag her through the door and into the sewers.

Our feet are bare, and I grimace, feeling how we sprint through fuck knows what, our splashing steps echoing down the tunnel.

‘ This way, ’ she pants, signalling to the left.

Screaming drifts down the tunnels, lots of it. But the girl doesn ’ t falter. Instead, the noise seems to spur her on more.

We slow to a jog as we approach a lit room, which emits the same orange glow as the others.

‘ Emily, ’ she says, and I realise she is giving me her name before she peaks around the corner. Her body goes ramrod straight as she observes whatever is on the other side. The only movement is her iron-clad wrist jangling as she motions for me to follow.

I gasp as I take in what must be at least a dozen bloodied bodies littering the floor. My mouth opens and closes, but nothing useful comes out.

Emily begins to laugh manically beside me. Her face splits into a painful grin as she takes in the dead bodies around us and spits.

She prowls between them, taking in each one as if trying to memorise how each of them looks now. Or more accurately how exactly each one of them died.

Then she takes the oil burner in the corner and smashes it into the last body she studies, this one I notice she kept for last, purposely passing by him to return later.

Flames illuminate her face, and I can ’ t help but stare as I watch some emotion work its way to the surface. The flames shine in the depths of her pain filled eyes.

Then, as if we never came across them, we leave them to burn.