The Hunt (The Cage 2)

“Mali, watch out!” Cora yelled. She fought the instinct to let go of the lock and dive for the knife. Even now, it took all her strength to hold the door.

Nok and Rolf were trying to drag Lucky to the safety of the hallway, but at Cora’s cry, Nok’s eyes latched onto the knife in the Mosca’s hand, and she hurled herself at it.

“Nok, be careful!” Rolf let go of Lucky, who slumped against the wall, barely conscious. Rolf wrapped his hands around the Mosca’s neck, pounding his fist against the creature’s head. Nok sank her teeth into the Mosca’s wrinkled gray skin. The Mosca let out a scream and dropped the knife, but another one picked it up before she could grab it. Lucky blinked awake just long enough to stretch out a leg, tripping the Mosca before it reached Nok. The Mosca fell on top of Lucky’s midsection, hard. There was a crack like a bone breaking, and Cora winced.

“Keep an eye on Lucky!” she yelled, though everyone was occupied except Anya, who stood in the center of the room, watching everything with big eyes. “Anya, help!”

Anya looked at Lucky, who’d fallen unconscious again, but didn’t move.

The lock cut into Cora’s palm. Her muscles couldn’t take much more.

“It’s giving!” she yelled. As she pressed against the door, she threw a look over her shoulder to make sure Lucky was okay, but then the lock slipped, and she shoved against it harder. Behind her, Mali had knocked out at least three Mosca and was launching herself at another. Leon’s right arm was covered in blood, as he swung his left fist with a roar. Nok and Rolf were trying to hold off the rest with the knife that they’d finally managed to wrench away. And Bonebreak . . .

“Where’s Bonebreak?” Cora yelled.

A half second later, a figure barreled out of the shadows. Bonebreak threw himself against her. The lock slid open two inches before Cora could shove it closed.

Bonebreak straightened—as much as he could with his hunchback—and flexed his massive fist. He raised it, and time seemed to slow. Beyond him, the fight was turning in the Mosca’s favor; Mali was breathing so hard she looked faint. Leon’s pace had slowed. Anya still stood wide-eyed in the center of the room. One of the Mosca got the knife from Nok and pinned her and Rolf to the ground. Leon’s bloody arm hung limply by his side.

A terrible certainty gripped Cora.

We’re going to lose.

She spun toward the only person left and yelled, “Anya, do something!”

Time sped back to the present, just as Bonebreak swiped up one of the planks and slammed it down. Cora hurled herself toward the floor, throwing herself over Lucky to protect him from the plank.

She braced for impact as memories assaulted her.

The cherry blossoms.

Lucky.

Home.

The impact never came.

After a few surreal seconds, she dared to look up. Bonebreak was standing perfectly still, the plank frozen in midswing; even the expression on his face was as frozen as a wax statue’s. One by one, the other Mosca turned to statues as well, as though a witch had cast an enchantment over them. The one hurling a fist toward Leon slowed in time until the fist stopped an inch from his face. Leon scrambled out from under it, shaking himself like a dog. The ones holding Nok and Rolf to the floor looked like immovable bookends. Mali took the opportunity to kick one to the ground, where it clunked heavily.

“What the . . . ?” Cora whispered. She clung to Lucky. He was mumbling aloud, though his breathing had a sort of hitch to it—he’d definitely broken a rib when that Mosca had landed on him. “Hey, stay with me. We’re going to patch you up.”

The door lock suddenly jerked.

She turned with a gasp. Whatever had frozen the Mosca hadn’t worked on the Kindred guards beyond the door. The lock groaned until it was nearly open. Cora lunged for it, but her feet slipped on a slick of blood—was that Lucky’s blood? Was it worse than just a broken rib?

“No!” She scrambled toward the door on all fours, but it was too late. The door lock groaned one more time, and then—click. Horror filled her as it began to open. An inch. Then two. Kindred faces appeared. Black eyes and copper skin. Hands reaching toward her.

She balled up in terror, her hands over her head.

Suddenly Bonebreak dropped the plank. It cluttered to the floor harmlessly. His hand curled into a fist and in two jerky steps he shoved the door closed with explosive power. The Kindred guards pounded on the other side with renewed force, but Bonebreak braced the lock with impossible strength. His jaw still had the wax-sculpture slackness. His movements were strange and twitchy, as though he wasn’t in control of his own body.

Cora reached out a shaky hand to grab Lucky’s shirt, worried by his halting breath. He winced and pressed a groggy hand to his ribs; she cupped his cheek, trying to see into his eyes.

“Lucky. Stay with me. Say something.”

“Ouch,” he mumbled.

She let out a cry of relief just to hear him speak. But then, without warning, one of the other frozen Mosca—the one with its fist an inch from Leon’s face—lowered its hand and stood at attention like a toy soldier.

“Uh . . .” Leon poked the Mosca, which didn’t move. “What the hell is going on?”

“It’s Anya,” Cora breathed, clutching Lucky tighter. “She’s doing this, isn’t she? She’s taken them over.”

Mali gently pressed a hand on Anya’s shoulder. Lucky still hadn’t opened his eyes, and Cora didn’t dare leave his side.

“How’s that possible?” Nok asked.

“She’s psycho,” Leon said.

“I think you mean psychic,” Rolf said. “And highly telekinetic, apparently. This ability exceeds anything we’ve seen the Kindred do.”

“Call off the Kindred guards,” Mali said to Anya. “Use the other Mosca to lead them away.”

Anya’s head turned robotically. The wax-sculpture Mosca underlings started to move. It was as unnatural as the way Bonebreak had moved. Foot over foot. Bodies swaying. Arms hanging uselessly. Like a puppet master, Anya conducted them over the uneven floor as they moved in jerky steps toward the exit. A sound came from one of their mouths—something like a garbled scream that sounded really, really pissed off.

“That’s it!” Nok said, clapping. “She’s doing it!”

“Make them scatter throughout the nearby hallways,” Mali instructed. “They must distract the Kindred guards away from the door.”

Anya’s face flickered with strain. Her small fingers shook with a bad tremor, but she managed to move them like she was working controls, as she choreographed the Mosca underlings to sashay toward the exit, where they stumbled through the door with clomping footsteps. The Kindred must have either heard them or sensed them, because the pounding at the door stopped.

Nok pressed her ear against the door. “It worked,” she said, and then made a face as she got a whiff of Bonebreak, the only Mosca remaining in the warehouse. “Now we seriously need to get out of here.”

Lucky was groaning a little. Waking, which was good. Cora started to reach for his jacket to get a better look at his wound, but footsteps sounded behind her.

Anya was pointing her trembling hands at Boneb

reak, making him walk.

“Time to go,” she said aloud.

It was the first time Cora had heard her real voice, which matched the whispers in her head. Singsongy, childlike, as though all this was just a big game. Step by step, Bonebreak headed around the corner of the warehouse, to a large flight room that contained a ship. Nok and Rolf parted uneasily to let him pass and then followed behind. Anya steered him to the ship, where his hand mechanically traced a symbol on the hull.

The ship’s door hissed open.

Slowly, Bonebreak took jerky steps up the ladder and disappeared into the ship. There were a few seconds of silence, and then a rumble, and then the ship’s lights flickered on.

“What now?” Nok asked, looking stunned.

Cora dug her fingers into Lucky’s shoulders. She had seen his eyes flicker open for a second, but they were closed again. She gently tucked a stray piece of his dark hair behind his ear.

“Now?” she said. “Now we go home while we have the chance.”

40

Lucky

LUCKY WOKE WITH THE worst headache of his life.

It wasn’t like a hangover. It felt more like he’d been running a marathon every day and hadn’t slept in weeks—so tired even his bones felt exhausted. Waves of pain rippled from his ribs, and he tried to sit up but nearly passed out. This was worse than the time he’d been kicked in the shoulder by a horse. Worse than the time he’d crashed his motorcycle into a ditch and ended up with four broken bones and twenty-seven stitches.

He blinked his eyes open, unsure what he was looking at. A ceiling. White. Smooth. Not like the ceiling of his cell at the Hunt, which had been bars. Not like the Kindred’s austere church-like hallways. He tried to blink through his swimming vision and saw Leon nearby, cradling a shoulder that bulged out like it was dislocated, and Nok climbing up through some sort of hatch. There were two chairs in the room, facing a wide screen, almost like in an aircraft. A dripping sound came from places he couldn’t see.

He closed his eyes again, trying to remember what had happened. He’d been in his cell. Writing in his journal. And then something about a fight. Cora, brushing his hair off his face. Maybe they were hiding out in this aircraft. He must have been wounded at some point—that pain in his ribs was killer.