Page 38 of Hunted By Fae
It isn’t fair.
“Help her!” My voice breaks. “Tell me what you did—and I can help her!”
The tears murk my sight.
But Emily, I am not even sure is hearing me. She is slow, so delayed in the gradual lift of her gaze to mine. Her breaths are grated.
Louise throws me a cross glare, the corners of her mouth tucking into her round cheeks. “Tess isn’t the only sick person here. If you could at least pretend to give a shit about anyone else, that would be great.”
My brows raise, and I feel darkness spreading through me. My fingers clench around the washcloth, so tight that my bones ache.
“Ruby and Ramona are sick too,” Louise hisses. “They are your friends, Bee. You could do anything to help them, change their fucking bedpans, cook them something, change their IV bags—but you are glued to that fucking chair, and I am doingeverything…” Her huff delates her chest. “And you’re pissed that someone is getting better?”
My lips part around words that don’t come.
I should shout, scream, run at her. I should shake Emily until she spills her secrets of recovery to me.
Yet…
A niggle in my mind tells me I’m wrong. It tells me Louise speaks nothing but facts.
The truth is, I love Tesni most.
The truth is, Tesni is more than a friend, she is a sister of the soul—and I would sacrifice everyone in here for her to have just another day.
I don’t say that.
I don’t say anything.
Because, before I can even land on a decision, on a reaction, a deep groan shudders through the basketball court.
My head whips to the side, my glare landing on the doors—just as they are being shoved open from the other side.
The first thing I notice are the masks.
Then, I blink, and it’s like all my vision clears—my mind clears, and I have a sudden writhing in my chest.
Masked people are pouring in through the door, guns in their grips, boots thudding on the glossy floor.
Intruders.
A hollow sensation carves through me; cold dread trailing down my insides.
These people piling in through the doors are not here for our help. They are not here to drop off a sick loved one. They are not here for quarantine.
If they were, they wouldn’t have loaded guns tucked to their chests, lifted, chins down, ready to aim and shoot.
I am utterly still, frozen in place, and I can only watch as these masked invaders barrel into our quarantine.
Just over my shoulder, movement rustles.
I flick my wide glare aside at Louise. But she’s only setting Emily down on the bed.
That movement alone ripples through the group of invaders coming to a stop by the entrance.
I count five of them, three guys, two women, all with severe, narrowed eyes. But most of their faces are covered by those paper-like masks, the kind worn in hospitals.
Those masks muffle the shout, “Medicine. Where do you keep ‘em?”
