Page 104 of Hunted By Fae
Emily is cowered under the pitched tarp. She took over my watch shift about two hours ago.
I squeeze in beside her. It’s a tight fit, our hips and thighs pressed together.
I start by taking out the plastic bag, the one with the scarf, then pack my bag.
Emily watches me, quiet.
The fatigue lowers her lashes over bloodshot eyes, so I guess she didn’t get much sleep before taking over the shift.
I hand her an energy drink.
She takes it, cold to the touch thanks to the winter chill. “Are we leaving?”
I don’t look at her. I watch my hand shove a folded sweater into the bag, flattening all the packets of noodles and canned foods. The better I pack it in, the less noise it’ll make if I need to run. Padding makes all the difference, even if it weighs down the bag and the straps end up pulling on my shoulders, I fit more in, and it rattles less.
“We are.”
Emily sits in that wording for a beat before, out the corner of my eye, her pink face crinkles. “We?”
“Me and you.” I gesture to the energy drink. “You’ll need that. You look tired.”
“I haven’t slept,” she murmurs.
I replace the batteries on the CB for fresh ones, then fasten it to my belt.
Static crinkles from it.
Emily tugs the tag on the drink. It hisses, fizz released, and she brings it to her cold lips. “Just me and you?” she starts between sips. “Not the others?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Just us.”
More seconds, and if there was a clock up here, it wouldtick, tick, tickagainst the quiet. Instead, the only sound is the soft zip of my backpack and Emily’s slurps.
The old batteries and packaging are left discarded on the edge of the sleeping bag.
“What about Bee? Is she back yet?” Emily’s frown just digs deeper into her face, an impatience swelling in her. “Are we going to go out and find her?”
I sigh and turn a dull look on her.
Her filler is gone. Lips once plump and full but also chapped and pale from the fever of the black plague. The botox from back then meant there wasn’t a whole lot of movement on her heart-shaped face. Now, it’s like watching paper crinkle in a fist as she considers me.
I remember how she looked back then in quarantine. Not that I was awake for much of it, just at the end.
Like me, she suffered.
Like me, she still does.
That occasional rush of inflammation and sandpaper spiralling down our chests. Inhalers help, so we both carry some in our bags. But it’s best up here, the chill of the air seeping into our mouths, soothing the ache inside.
I take extra care to suck in the cold all the way to the pits of my lungs.
“Bee thinks we might be in trouble,” I tell her. “One of the warriors saw her,recognisedher.”
Emily’s lashes flutter for a beat—then her face slackens.
This is news to her, more than it was to me.
Emily has been kept on the outs with some of this information. She doesn’t know what Bee is. A kinta. A halfling born a human.
