Chapter 20 #2
“I’d hurry up; the last person who went in there actually did drown. It was a whole thing,” Jonathan urges with a dark laugh. “Luckily, he was close enough to the exit for someone in the court to notice his body. We managed to pull it out for his parents to bury.”
“Shut up, guys,” Rowan says with a roll of his eyes. He pulls his other hand out of his pocket. In it is a small flashlight. He tosses it at me and reflexes have me catching it before I realize what I’m doing. “You should get going?—”
“No,” I cut him off, my voice low but firm. “I’m not doing this.”
I may be willing to risk a lot for Maverick, but to risk my life just so two assholes can use me however they want—even against the guy I’d come for—is not going to happen.
Rowan’s smile fades slowly, his face suddenly growing hard. “You know there’s a lot riding on you succeeding.”
“I said,” I growl through clenched teeth, “ no. I don’t want to be your plaything. I don’t want to be your queen. I’ve never been part of the in crowd, and I don’t plan to change that now. I’m here for one reason and one reason only.”
Rowan’s eyes narrow, his hands going back into his pockets. “Jonathan, assist Everly in getting into the Labyrinth, please,” Rowan orders.
Like a well-trained dog, Jonathan stomps toward me, an eager smile pulls at his mouth as he approaches.
I consider my options. I can run. I don’t know the woods very well and am not sure where I’d go, but that’s something.
Then again, how far could I get before Jonathan tackles me and drags me back?
His legs are stupidly long. I guess I could try to fight.
I already know the success rate of that is absolutely zero, but at least I’m not just caving to this psycho’s whims.
Jonathan must sense my twitchiness because he charges at me, closing the distance too quickly for me to think on my feet. The minute his arms wrap around me, I start to fight.
“No, no! I’m not going down there!” I screech, kicking and scratching with all my might.
“You’re fighting the inevitable,” Rowan drawls as if he’s bored.
I ignore him as I attempt to shove my elbow into Jonathan’s gut.
His arms tighten around mine, preventing the movement.
When I try jamming my heel into his shin, he just moves his leg out of the way.
My head flies back in a last-ditch effort.
The back of my skull hits his nose square on.
Jonathan’s grip tightens painfully around me as he swears.
“Goddamn bitch!” he snarls.
I cry out as he squeezes harder. Too busy dealing with my current situation, I don’t realize another person has joined us until he speaks.
“Get. Your. Filthy. Fucking. Hands. Off. Her.”
Everyone freezes. Then, four pairs of eyes swing around to search for the owner of the voice.
I see him before the others do. His slow, steady steps are jerky, as if lifting each foot is a monumental feat.
He doesn’t try to be quiet, though the soft ground grants some stealth as Maverick emerges from the darkness.
His white shirt, sweaty and tight, clings to the wide span of his chest and biceps.
Maverick’s dark curly hair is sweaty and plastered to his forehead.
Even at a distance, I can see his body is vibrating from tension.
When he flashes his teeth, baring them in a silent snarl, he looks more like an animal than a man.
Maverick looks ready to kill.
The blood drains from my face. Braum called it; Maverick came. I can see the unholy fury in Maverick’s eyes as the moonlight catches in them. I didn’t even realize it was possible for him to be any madder than the other night, but I can feel the rage in the air.
It’s painfully obvious that Maverick’s not in a rational headspace. He’s not here to talk or to save me from some twisted game.
Maverick’s here for blood.
Terror unlike I’ve ever felt before grips my heart. I suddenly want to be as far away from this version of Maverick as possible. He didn’t kill me last time, but when he slaughters these three, he might attempt to this time around.
“Vick!” Rowan calls out with a smirk. “Figured you’d be joining us.”
Maverick doesn’t respond as he approaches. With each step he takes, the more certain I am this won’t end well. If I’m going to talk sense into Mavie, it won’t be in his current state.
With a renewed sense of dread, I fight Jonathan. Surprised by my sudden burst of energy, he drops me. I land in a heap at his feet, but I’m not there for long. I scramble to the mouth of the drain just as Rowan hisses to Sheldon, “Get him.”
Maverick, honest to god roars in challenge. It’s so loud birds take flight around us. Sending up a quick prayer I don’t drown or get bitten by some radioactive spider, I lunge for the mouth of the drain, leaving these guys to fight to the death.
I let go of the last rung of the rusted metal ladder and brace myself for the short drop to the bottom.
My feet land in about three inches of gross, algae-ridden water.
It splashes up and gets my calves wet, but that’s not what I cringe from; it's the stench.
It's a mixture of rancid meat and sewage.
It bombards me now that I'm so far away from the fresh air above.
My stomach clenches, and I bend over as I gag.
The minute I do, I regret it because with my mouth open I swear I can taste the foul air.
For a moment, I'm caught up in a cycle of dry heaving, taking a deep breath to steady myself, then dry heaving again once I get a lungful of this awful air.
When it finally subsides, I straighten with a grimace.
Fruitlessly, I attempt to pull the neck of my shirt—another stolen from Braum’s dresser—up to cover my nose, but it doesn't stay.
I give up on that and click on the flashlight.
I'm granted a thin white beam and nothing else.
It's like the darkness eats at any residual light that might come off the beam.
The light hits the archway of an entrance to a tunnel directly ahead of me.
Its covered in old and new spiderwebs, twigs and dried leaves caught up in them.
Swinging my flashlight left then right, I find two more tunnels, both just as dark and unappealing.
No fresh air wafts from any direction, no light bounces off anything reflective at the end of them. Which way do I go?
Above me, I can hear the soft grunts and swearing of the guys. Sounds of scuffling grow closer, then disappear.
I look back up, wondering if maybe I made the wrong choice.
Should I have just darted off into the trees?
Immediately I grimace; I would've been caught.
If not by Rowan's friends, by Maverick. Their longer legs and familiarity with the area would give them too much of an advantage.
In any case, turning around isn't an option.
The ladder is higher up than I expect—just out of reach should I attempt to make the jump for it.
Crap, I hope the ladder at the other end of this labyrinth isn't as high, or I won't be leaving this hellscape.
Turning my attention back to the three tunnels, I eye each one carefully.
After a moment, I decide to take the one directly in front of me.
My logic? There are fewer spiderwebs covering it.
Also, it's in the general direction Rowan pointed when telling me where the exit is.
I slosh forward, bending and twisting around so my hair and face don't get hit with sticky webbing.
It's futile since I'm immediately hit with thinner, newer webs the light from my flashlight didn't pick up.
My squeal of terror echoes around me, catching and bouncing off the walls and water.
It's repeated for the next five minutes as I keep hitting spiderwebs that I can't see.
Eventually, I concede there's no avoiding them.
I do, however, decide that it won't be face-first. Using my free hand, I stretch my arm out in front of me and wiggle it around.
It helps a little bit. But every time I cut through a web with my fingers, I feel either imaginary or real spiders scurry across my skin.
At least they aren't in my face or hair.
At the end of the tunnel, there’s a sharp left.
The length of this one is shorter, then suddenly hooks a right.
Things drifting in the water, branches, trash, and only god knows what else, bump against my ankles as I trudge along.
I try not to imagine it’s a snake each time this happens.
The only sound, other than my shallow breathing and sloshing through the water, is of water dripping.
No matter how many turns I take, it’s always there.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
It’s grating and only makes my frayed nerves feel even more raw.
I make another right, then two lefts down longer stretches of tunnel.
As I swing around another right corner, I’m faced with a fork in the road.
Left or right? I start to go right, knowing I’ve probably taken too many lefts and am likely going in a circle, but just as I do, I notice my flashlight hits something reflective down the tunnel to my left.
Swinging it back in that direction, I realize… it’s not a reflection at all. There’s light down this tunnel. It’s muted, hardly noticeable, just enough to tell it’s not pitch-black. Without thinking, I head toward it, hoping wherever it’s coming from is the exit.