Half Lost (The Half Bad Trilogy #3) - Sally Green Page 0,12

run around the clearing, sending lightning and flames and there’s a scream and more shots, but no more cramping. That has stopped.

I scan the clearing and the edge of the trees. I’m still, my breath coming hard, panicked. I have to calm it. Have to stay invisible too. I think I got the one who can do the cramp thing, but only because she’s not doing it any more. Then I see her, surprisingly close, lying half hidden by a tree, her arm outstretched to me, her eyes open.

So that means there’s two Hunters left.

I hear a sound to my right. I send lightning there. The biggest bolt I can make. And I run a few steps through the trees. The shooting starts again. I drop to the ground and lie flat.

It goes quiet.

I wait.

And wait.

If they’re dead they’re visible. I raise my head to look.

Nothing . . . or maybe something. Smoke. And then I see the seventh Hunter. She’s not dead but kneeling on the ground, blackened. Her jacket smoking. Her right arm limp at her side and her left hand holding her gun loosely. She’s looking around. Dazed.

And then the final Hunter becomes visible behind her. Somehow I got her too, even though she’s further away. I can’t see her face. She’s lying on the ground.

I have to concentrate hard on staying invisible—breathe slowly, think air—and then I move to look more closely at the girl on the ground. Her face is burned and blackened. Her eyes open. She’s definitely not faking it. I allow myself to become visible.

The kneeling Hunter is breathing hard. I step toward her so she can see me and she tries to raise her gun. The Fairborn slits her throat. More blood on my hand. Another body lying on the ground.

The prisoner is still curled up on the ground. Ankles chained to the tree. Hands zip-tied in front. A canvas hood covers her head, tied round her neck where strands of her blonde hair stick out.

I’m shaking. I take a breath and another and some more.

My hands are sticky with blood. I grip the Fairborn tighter and grab the prisoner by the shoulder. She jolts back but is silent. I cut at the string that ties the hood, careless of the point of the Fairborn as it nicks her neck. That’s the least of what Annalise deserves. I pull off the hood.

Blonde hair tumbles out and half covers her face. Annalise’s hair?

It’s hard to see in the dark.

She shakes her head back. She’s gagged but her eyes are staring at me. Blue eyes full of fear, full of silver. White Witch eyes.

My hands are shaking harder now, shaking with rage and fury, and the Fairborn is buzzing in my grip and I drive it into the ground and walk away.

The Prisoner

The fire, a rucksack, a sleeping bag: I kick them all and curse them all. I stop short of kicking a dead body but I curse it and everything else that lies on the ground in this crappy camp. By the time I’ve worked my way back to the prisoner, I don’t know if I’ve worked myself up or down but I’m still mad. I don’t know who she is but she’s not Annalise.

The girl stares at me. Some of the fear has gone from her eyes and she tries to talk, but she’s gagged and I’m not in the mood for messing with that. I turn my back on her and find a water canister to wash my hands and clean the Fairborn. All the time I do it, I swear. The swearing helps, a little.

I go through the camp looking for anything that may be useful: useful to me and useful to Greatorex. There’s plenty of stuff but no paperwork, plans, or orders. I put a blanket, water, food, knives, guns, and ammo into a rucksack. I also find rope, zip ties, and keys, I guess, to the prisoner’s chains. There’s a medical kit too. I don’t need one but some in the Alliance don’t heal as well or as quickly as me.

When I try to lift the rucksack I can hardly move it. I take out four of the guns, the blanket, the medical kit; I tip out most of the water but keep the canister, all the ammo and food. There’s some clothes on the ground by one of the sleeping bags. I take a fleece and a jacket and turn back to the prisoner. She’s sitting up