Page 93 of Lucky 14

There’s a nagging tugging in my chest.

Wyatt has Oakley, too. Did he starve him like me? Or did he kill him?

My heart starts to race like I’m one of those foxes they used to hunt for sport. Which is probably partly because my nervous system will never recover, and partly because I haven’t eaten in…I’m not actually sure how long.

My hands shake in front of my face in the dark, and I clench them into fists, reminding myself over and over that they’re my hands and that they are no longer tied. Wyatt’s clothes smell like something warm and spicy, and for some reason, that makes me irrationally angry. How dare a killer smell good?

To help me feel real, I keep clenching my fists. I run my fingers down the buttons on Wyatt’s shirt. Up, down, up, down.

Still alive. Still alive.

I shouldn’t be. Somehow, I’ve cheated death so many times.

Feeling the mask on my knee, I snort. The skull mask that has cheated death.

As I breathe, I feel an odd…focus sweep over me. It’s like warm water from a bath, surrounding me and holding me weightless. It’s the same focus that filled me when I fought Wyatt. When I fought Oakley. It’s like a new, older version of me that has only come out under severe stress. That version grabs my hand and smiles at me with sad eyes, reminding me that it’ll be all right. That right now, we know exactly what’s going to happen, and it’s pretty simple. Either I fight, or I die.

Either I stay in this closet forever, or I face what I’m afraid of.

What am I afraid of?

I run my fingers up and down and up and down.

Am I afraid of the hunters? Of what they’ll do to me?

Wyatt?

I straighten. I’ve faced Wyatt down. Faced my own death down. I can leave this closet.

So, slowly, I don Wyatt’s skull mask. Even the mask smells good, instantly flooding me with that warm scent. As the mask slips on, I feel the braver version of me slip into control.

Food. I need that before I do anything else.

I take a deep breath and stand. As I do, I feel something heavy in the pocket of the shirt. Feeling around, I find a…lighter? A big lighter of some sort, and a rectangular card.

I squint in the dim light.

A room key. Wyatt’s room key.

At first, I get excited. Then, that excitement dulls. I don’t want to get back into his room. In fact, it’s the last thing I want.

Slowly, my brain kicks on. Wyatt runs this place. What if this is a universal key?

I try to squash the hope that fills my chest. Mixed with that hope is a new, brutal sort of excitement. I could do a lot of damage if this is what I hope it is.

So, with newfound confidence, I step out of the fucking closet.

Finding food is easier than it should be. After I pass the first person with Wyatt’s mask on and they ignore me, I find myself walking straighter. Walking with the gait of a woman who has faced down death and survived.

I follow the sounds of clinking plates, stepping up to a large room. When I see what it is, my vision narrows. A dining hall. There aren’t many people here; it must be early morning, but the ones who are here are clearly hunters, huge men huddled around tables in little groups. Most don’t have masks on, although one or two do. I find myself scanning for a tall man with big sorrowful eyes.

I don’t see him, and that makes my stomach clench in an odd twist. Something like worry slithers through my body.

Where is Oakley?

There are a few people here wearing masks. Maybe he’s one of them.

As I’m scanning, I spot something that shakes me a bit and makes my vision go fuzzy around the edges.