Hunted

Fifty-One: The Old School

The corridors of the Old School were deathly quiet. Night had descended and it was as if the academy had decided to sleep, unaware of the growing tension and danger deep in its bowels. It tried to appear content and peaceful in the shadow of night time, the shadows obscuring the fighting that had torn through the school as the students had fled from the stadium.

Charlotte was on edge. The silence and darkness seemed to offer only threats and misgivings. She moved with bated breath, straining her ears in an effort to detect the menaces that lay ahead of her. She tried to keep to the service corridors as she climbed higher into the school, her attention fixed on the west wing and on Elmhirst's office.

She had begun to regret her choice to go alone, quickly realising that she had no idea if Elmhirst was even in the academy at all. For all she knew he could still be at the arena, or worse he could have made it away from the island altogether, though she doubted he would give it up so easily.

She had tried to use her stirring alteration to seek him out, but it was returning more slowly than she had thought at first, responding weakly to her demands. She was only half-certain that her immediate environment was free of life, unable to rely on her alteration for guidance.

She passed the doors to the banquet rooms, the marble gleaming in the moonlight that seemed to break through the gloom. Charlotte pushed open the door and entered, her body tense. The balcony and part of the end wall had been destroyed, leaving a yawning chasm open to the warm night air. The silver light of the moon made the room look ghostly and sad. It was void of the laughter and conversation, the dancing and indulging the room had once held. It was broken, just like the academy and everything it stood for.

Charlotte readjusted the gun in her hand, wishing she had thought to bring the darts from her rucksack. She had no idea what she was going to have to face, or how long the rounds Annakiya had loaded into the gun would last.

With a sigh she moved further into the room, careful not to disturb the rubble that littered the floor. She wondered how stable it all was after the earlier destruction, or if Elmhirst had used all the explosives hidden around the island. They had grown up with the stories of the minefield covering the western cliffs, but little had they known that explosives had actually been buried all over the island. Elmhirst had compensated well for a rebellion. Charlotte only wondered how well he had compensated for her.

She was ripped from her reverie by shuffling and footsteps in the hallway.

"It's like the greatest game we've ever had to play. It proves who is the strongest," a male voice said, excitement etched deep in his tone. The words drifted through the open door behind her, making Charlotte jump.

"I don't care who's strongest. I just want to make Alexander suffer after what happened to Freya. I still don't even know if she's alive," a female voice muttered.

"There's more than that though – it's getting to the likes of Deluca and Jansen. They think they are so smart, so clever. I can't wait to see their faces when this all unravels about them," a second female voice added.

"Who's there?" Bennett's nasal voice cut through the gloom, constricting Charlotte's breathing. His voice was unmistakable, though it seemed further away that the others. Charlotte swallowed uneasily. There were too many of them. If they found her, she would never stand a chance.

"Ah, what are you four up to?" he said, his voice slick with mistrust.

"Checking that none of the rebels have left the New School," one of the females replied.

"Good – it's reassuring that not all our senior students have fallen to the misguided actions of Owens," Bennett drawled.

"Never, sir," the male assured. "We know where our priorities should lie".