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A stray firecracker blossoms onto the scene as I roll over, taking inventory of my body and surroundings. A shudder racks me and bile rises into my throat when my gaze latches onto the severed arm lying next to me. I realize the mushy blobs glued to my skin arechunksof the person the land mine decimated. Suppressing the urge to vomit, I unconsciously swipe at my arms before yelling in anguish as I scrape the glass fragments deeper into my cuts. The world is a dizzy blur as I try to stand, but my knees give out from the pain in my calf.
Palpating the area delicately, I hiccup in apprehension when my shaking fingers connect with the shard buried inside of me. Blood pools around the puncture, too deep for it to congeal. Hobbling back up, I gulp in a bolstering breath of air. If I want to survive, I need to get to that school—and stat. I’ll need medical attention for my lacerations, but that’s a future concern for me. I have no idea if any will be provided but better wounded and alive than dead.
With this in mind, I decide to bypass the buried bombs and chance the other thicket of trees a short distance up to my right. I will need to skirt around the planted chips of glass but can’t be certain the grove isn’t booby-trapped as well. Not wanting to risk becoming more injured—or worse—I close my eyes and mumble a semblance of a prayer under my breath before picking up the chunk of human arm. Gagging, I heave it into the trees, listening intently, but all I hear are snapping twigs.
A shaky sigh escapes my pursed lips as I tiptoe around the glass. Although I have no desire to fall on the numerous little daggers, my mind is more preoccupied with inadvertently stepping on a landmine. Slinking between the lush leaves, I tune out the tortured bellows of those trying to survive around me and focus on seeing inside the umbrella of foliage. My every step is filled with trepidation, and I weave myself carefully around branches while keeping my arms and hands tucked in close to my sides.
When I make it halfway through with nothing happening, my muscles coil in anticipation. This is too good to be true, and the snapping of sticks behind me solidifies the thought. Barely turning, I spot the silhouette of a person in my peripheral vision, but whether they are a victim of the situation or a perpetrator of it has yet to be known. Regardless, they can’t be trusted. This is every person for themselves, and so I plaster myself against a tree trunk without moving, hoping I blend in with the darkness.
The shrill whistle of a nearby bomb going off has both our heads turning back toward where the pit lies. Air clogs in my lungs at the thought of the muddied hole, and I surreptitiously angle around where the thicket narrows. A small patch of light shines like a ray of sunshine guiding me home.Please be Bitterwood, I beg, not stopping to ponder if actually surviving this ordeal is worth it. Who knows what horrors await me at this mysterious academy. If it even exists. That would be the ultimate cherry on this shitshow—surviving only to find out there is no school, only death.
A sliver of unadulterated dread wrestles its way free from my throat when I hear an ominous snarl somewhere in the thicket. The sound vibrates down to my bare toes, and my heart hammers savagely almost in tune with the heavy fall of the rain while I try to cut off my vocal cords. Whoever is in the trees with me hears it, too, and their muffled whimper echoes my own. Underbrush gives way as something crunches through the growth. Even through the wail of the storm, I can sense and feel the creature’s presence. Whatever it is, it’s not human—we’re not capable of making the earth tremble with just a meregrowl.
I remain a statue, holding my breath as the beast stalks closer. A barrage of fireworks goes off—like the grand finale on the Fourth of July—and their light is enough to pierce the blanket of leaves overhead. My courage wavers when I catch sight of a pair of glowing, yellow eyes. As an avid hunter, hiker, and camper of northern California, I recognize those golden orbs—cat eyes. The outline of the monster invokes a flutter of panic in my chest as I assess its size, which is nearly twice my height. Granted, I’m a petite girl at only five feet, but this is a giantcat.
California only has mountain lions. Although they can reach up to heights of a little over three feet, I’ve only encountered one half my size—but make no mistake, it was still terrifying to be in its presence. A flashback overwhelms me to a time when I was only fourteen and on an excursion with my family. I relive the slow suffocation I felt as fear threatened to strangle me alive. Even though I wanted to cower and hide, I rounded my shoulders, rose to my tiptoes, and roared like I was the king of the forest. It was enough to run off the wild cat, but this feline devil prowling toward me is on another level. It’s no mountain lion, for sure, and hints that I’m no longer in California.
When it’s mere feet from where I’m plastered to the tree trunk, my thighs clench together, and my muscles spasm. It’s unnerving when you’re a young woman trying not to piss yourself, but here I am, fighting the instinct. I swear it’s close enough for me to touch and debate whether making myself appear bigger will even be an effective tactic, but what other options do I have? When lightning strikes and thunder crashes, echoing throughout the thicket, the cat doesn’t even blink. How am I going to intimidate a beast that isn’t even afraid of a storm?
With steady precision, I push down on my legs before shoving upward, launching myself into the air. I keep my arms extended as I jump and almost instantly connect with a low-lying branch. It’s thin enough for me to get a grasp but thick enough to hold my weight as I swing my legs into my chest. The second I move, the cat lunges. My hands strain to keep hold of the slippery bark, and I dig my nails in, barely feeling the bite of the splinters that ensue. Struggling to keep my legs aloft, I buck my hips skyward, hooking one foot and then another over the branch.
Wasting no time, I pull myself onto the branch and methodically ascend higher. Unfortunately, I forgot that cats are avid climbers themselves. My only hope is that the branches are too weak to hold its considerably larger mass. Sharp claws rake the trunk, making the entire tree quake, and I lose my footing. My hands clutch at nothing as I tumble down, my back smacking against the very branch I originally grabbed. A violent cracking sound fills the air as the force of my collision compromises the limb’s strength. Once more, I go tumbling down, crashing on top of the monstrous creature.
It lets out a feral hiss and swipes a lethal paw at its back, but I quickly roll off, trying to regain my footing. The resounding crinkle of leaves being trampled rises over the roar of the storm and my pounding heart, and I know the other person in the thicket with me is using this opportunity to run. Following their lead, I hurtle away from the cat, which is wrestling its way out of the tangle of sticks that engages it. Whoever is ahead of me trips, and their groan of pain twists my stomach, but I don’t stop—Ican’tstop. They pop back up, but I’m now in the lead, and in this current game of cat-and-mouse, you don’t want to be the straggler.
When I burst out of the foliage, my heart soars in jubilation at the sight of a mansion about a quarter-mile away. I run like I’ve never run before, my chest burning from the exertion until I crash into the wrought iron fence at least four heads taller than me. An inhuman screech stabs into my ears, and I swivel to look behind me. Even though the fireworks seem to be done, I can see much better than when I was inside the thicket and can make out the form of a person sprinting for their life chased by a giant black blur. The only cat I know that big with such coloring is a jaguar.
“Holy fuck!” I gasp before turning to face the fence.
Gripping it tightly, I hoist myself up, my whole body protesting at the movement. Instinct must be riding me hard, because I make it to the top in record time just as the other person reaches the fence, shaking the irons fiercely, crying to be let in.
“Climb up!” I shriek at the guy, not recognizing his voice. He attempts to scramble up but his hands slip, his weight pulling him back down, aided by the rain.
“Help me!” he cries, and I don’t even realize I’m shaking my head. There’s no fucking way I’m getting down from this fence. “Please!” He pleads like Bianca, and my heart squeezes in excruciation. I’m not a bad person, but I’m literally being forced to pick between helping myself and a stranger. Every time, I choose me—what does this say about my moral code? Do I even have one or does it dissolve in the face of extreme danger?
In the end, it doesn’t matter because the jaguar attacks when the boy attempts to climb again. He’s halfway up when the ferocious cat sinks its razor-sharp teeth into his calf and drags him back down. I want to scream for him to protect his neck, but the words never come out—not that it even matters because the giant animal swipes across the guy’s stomach, cutting diagonally with a vicious swing that severs his torso from his bottom half. Gurgling sounds escape his lips, and I vomit over the side of the fence, taking in his filleted form. The jaguar doesn’t care, chewing on one end of the intestine, and I force myself to look away.
Gripping the pointed tips of the top of the fence, I ensure I’m firmly on the other side while stealthily lowering myself down. The cat might not be able to get through but his paws can, and I don’t want to be within striking distance of the brute. About three quarters of the way down, I push off, landing some feet away from the fence and out of reach of the jaguar. Another yelp of anguish escapes my lips when my ankle twists at the contact. Between the shard of glass in my left leg and my right ankle contorted, I no longer can stand. Sucking in a fortifying breath, I stretch my arms in front of me and army-crawl my way to the entrance of Bitterwood Prep.
The stairs are stained red with blood, indicating someone else made it before me. Nearly limp from fatigue, I force my body to climb every step, counting them in my head. Only when I reach one hundred do I magically reach the top. A weak smile of disbelief curls my lips. I did it—I fucking made it. As if on cue, the front door opens, and a man who haunts my most recent thoughts comes out. It’s Professor Vaughn. His steely eyes are cold, but there’s a hint of emotion in there—relief, maybe? A scraping sound echoes behind me, but Vaughn holds out his hand, and I can only stare in fixation at his palm—it represents my salvation. All I have to do is touch it, and IknowI’ll be safe.
Except, when I reach for it, he steps over me. Confused, I look over my shoulder into a familiar pair of angry eyes.Bianca.My gasp of shock is equally from her presence as well as Vaughn helping her up and into the mansion. The two leave me in the rain, bleeding, without a backward glance. A part of me wonders if this is simply karma, but a bigger part seethes with rage. This isn’t the first time that fucker has pickedherover me, but it will be the last. I didn’t survive this hell to be snubbed and locked out. Vaughn will rue this day—as will Principal Windsor.I’m used to being the underdog, a solo player on her own team fighting all by herself. It’s hardened my heart, causing malice to thread through my veins.Vaughn’s choice was his to make, but the repercussions of that choice?
Those will be all mine.
