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“Oh, fuck off,” I snarl, making a commotion as I stomp through the trees.
You can’t deny she makes us feel better,the stupid fucking voice continues to argue.Even now. You’re just mad at her for stealing the light.
That thought brings me to a standstill.
Is that why I’m angry?
I shake my head, refusing to fall for that bullshit. Regardless, she stole the lightbecauseshe had left.
I’m so busy trying to outrun my thoughts that I trip over a root and go sprawling.
Hahaha, my inner voice cackles.Serves you right for trying to ignore me.
Disregarding the asshole, I shove myself upright and turn to scowl at what I fell over. Instead of cursing out a root, my eyebrows raise in surprise when I discover my foot caught on a metal ring. Next, I notice the metal door it’s attached to, which I’m currently lying half on top of.
Guess I found that secret bunker.Pushing to my feet, I survey the area, noting several outlines of footprints leading to and away from the bunker door. Does that mean I’m in the right place? Why else would anyone be out here?
I lean forward and tighten my grip on the gun's handle before pointing it at the door and encircling the metal ring with my hand.
Before I can pull it open, though, I hear a twig break to my right, and I swivel around, aiming my gun in the direction of the sound as I squint into the shadows.
A beat of silence stretches into infinity as I hunt out the shadows for the slightest movement, not seeing anything unusual.
“Who's there?” I shout.
Unsurprisingly, I get no response, and after another drawn-out moment of peering into the trees, I turn away and focus back on the trapdoor at my feet.
Reaching out once again, my finger hovers over the trigger as, with ample force to have my muscles straining and the metal creaking loud enough to alert the undead to my presence, I force the metal door open.
I’m greeted with a set of stairs that have been pulled right out of a horror movie, and I stare down into the dark abyss, wondering if I’m right in the head. I might not be the typical dumb blonde girl that goes to check out the weird noise in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t mean I’m not the idiot who dies at the beginning of the movie.
“Well, here goes nothing,” I mutter to myself as I take my first step into the black pit, not entirely convinced that Emilia is worth dying for.
You keep living in that delusional world of yours.
Snarling under my breath, I descend into the musty interior. The wooden steps creak beneath my boots, and just before the inky blackness swallows me up, I notice an old light switch off to my left.
I don't expect it will do anything when I flip it, so I'm pleasantly surprised when a low buzz is followed by a dim light flickering. I squat low to get a better look at the basement below as I slowly descend the stairs, gun still tightly gripped in my hand.
The weak light does a poor job of illuminating the space, but it’s enough for me to identify the familiar black-haired girl strapped to a chair in the middle of the room with her back to me.
“Emilia?”
She startles at my voice, her head whipping to the side as she cranes to see me over her shoulder. “Wilder?” Her tone veers between hysteria and relief. I can see the fear in her eyes, and knowing I wasn’t the one to put it there has me hurrying down the last few steps.
“Is anyone else here?” I suddenly think to ask as my boots meet hard concrete.
“N-no. She left.”
Satisfied, I cross the room toward her, noticing that her hands and ankles are restrained with zip ties. Yet another instance when a knife is superior to a gun. Marie would have been through these in no time.
I turn my back on her, intending to find something sharp to slash through them, and halt as I come face-to-face with a photo of myself deep-throating the girl behind me.
“What the actual fuck?” I gasp, surveying the wall of photos. Talk about the creepiest fucking art gallery ever.
“Wilder, please,” Emilia hiccups. Her tone steals my attention as I do my best to ignore theverygraphic photos in front of me and scour the shelves for something I can use to get her out of that seat.
I find a pair of rusty scissors that will have to do the job and turn back to Emilia. Her entire body is trembling, and I’m not even sure she realizes she’s crying as I slip one of the blades between the zip tie and her wrist and use my strength to rip through it. Doing the same to her other wrist, I hurriedly move on to her ankles, and as soon as the last zip tie falls away, she launches herself into my arms.
