The Gender Game 2 by Bella Forrest (positive books to read txt) 📗

Twenty feet in front of me, rippling out like a wall, was the swarm of red flies, hovering in unison. Their crimson bodies shimmered, and it might have looked beautiful, if it wasn’t so terrifying. It was hard to make out an individual red fly. They darted in and out of the swarm too fast to distinguish. From this distance, I could feel the buzzing of their wings, the sound vibrating along my skin and in my bones.

I took a step to the left, toward the log, and I watched as the swarm rippled, adjusting itself to me. The log was maybe five or six feet behind me. I licked my lips and took another slow step back.

The swarm exploded, little red blurs shooting toward me like bullets. Unable to control my shriek, I dropped my flashlight and ran. My legs tore across the mossy ground, eating up the distance in a matter of seconds. I could feel the air behind me growing denser as the swarm closed in.

Without even thinking, I dove in headfirst. It felt like it took me minutes to roll over, canister in hand, and spray, but in reality, it was seconds. I heard the splat of the red flies as they impacted on the log. I continued to spray the aerosol container in front of the hole, keeping them out. Through the spray, I could see the red bodies trying to push their way in, only to jerk away as they made contact with the haze.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, spraying the aerosol container at the hole. The red fly swarm sat just outside, buzzing around. Occasionally, it would try to press in, but the spray held it back. It was growing lighter in my hand with all the continuous spraying, so I blindly reached for the bag with my other hand.

I wished I hadn’t dropped the flashlight. Occasionally, as the swarm buzzed against the log, there would be a gap and I could see the light shining through from where the flashlight sat on the ground. But beyond that, I couldn’t see anything. I didn’t even know how big this log was inside, and I was too afraid to try and feel it out. So I sat, arms around my knees, spraying the hole, my legs cramping and back aching.

I found the bag, and changed aerosol containers. My finger on my left hand had become stiff from compressing the spray nozzle, so I flexed my hand, spraying with the other. I really wanted to stretch out. I really wanted to sleep, but I knew I couldn’t. If I did, I would die.

And for what, some deranged psychopath, some stupid egg, and some game of political power? I wanted my brother. I wanted Viggo. And I wanted to live a life free from violence and fear. I just had no idea how I could do it.

I remembered when I was younger, and Tim and I were lying in bed, reading a story. In it, a woman was lost in a forest. Her sisters had been captured by an evil man, intent on selling them in Patrus. The woman had run from him, and had barely escaped. She cried in the forest, bemoaning the fact that she didn’t fight the man, and that she would never see her sisters again. She was crying so hard, that she didn’t notice the old woman who had come to kneel next to her. The old woman explained that her own daughters had been taken by the same man, and that she was on her way to kill him. She asked if the younger woman would like to help, and together, they found the man, killed him, and freed the sisters.

There was a lot more in the story in between, but the old woman was a sort of legend in Matrus. She had no name, and no great power, save that of knowledge. She was exactly what I needed—a guide. I knew it was childish of me to want that, but I allowed myself to dream of the story, if only for a moment.

I was so embroiled in my thoughts, that it took me a minute to realize that the forest had gone silent. Sitting up straight, I stared out of the hole, and saw nothing but the light shining in from the flashlight.

I didn’t dare stop compressing the aerosol container. For all I knew, it was a trap. I waited for what seemed like eternity. My legs and arms were starting to tingle from being held in that one position, but I ignored it—or at least, I tried to. It started at my ankles, and began working its way up my shins and to my knees. I didn’t dare move my legs to stretch them out, but the prickling sensation was starting to irritate me. So, I reached down and began rubbing my legs with my free hand. As I smoothed down the fabric of my dress, I froze as I felt something roil under my hand.

Quivering, I removed my hand, and began to draw up my skirt, the sound of fabric sliding across my skin filling the small space of the log. It spilled over my knee and I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming at the long black centipede clinging to my leg.

I became aware of other movements around me, and felt the brush of thousands of sharp little legs. Something shifted behind me, disturbing my hair, and I felt the weight of a hard body pressing into my scalp.

I screamed and scrambled out of the hole, jerking my bag around me. Three centipedes hit the ground as I shook my body and head frantically, trying to dislodge the creatures. I shuddered, crying openly now as I continued to shake myself, my mind and body convinced there were more on me. I ran hands over my arms and