Wanted. (Book Eight)

Thirty: Life Ends With A Bang, Not A Whimper.

The room began to fill with black, curling smoke. The temperature was slowly but steadily rising. Emily yanked at the window sash, but it didn't budge. She thought about breaking the glass, but the bedroom was in the back of the house, which was set on a steep downward slope. The jump would break their legs, if not worse.

On the other side of the room, Spencer, Aria, and Hanna were ramming their shoulders against the door, trying to break it down. When it didn't give, they collapsed in a heap on the bed, panting.

"We're going to die," Hanna whispered. "Ali's trying to kill us."

"No she's—" Emily trailed off. She was about to say that Ali wasn't—Ali couldn't. Billy had written that note, posing as Ali. And if he hadn't, then Melissa had. Melissa had snickered at them moments ago, laughing at everything they'd deduced. Melissa had killed Ali's sister. Melissa had set this fore. Or if not Melissa—or Billy—then someone else.

Just not Ali. Never Ali.

The air was getting so thick with smoke it was becoming hard to see. Hanna leaned over and started to cough, and Aria let out a woozy moan. Spencer ripped the top sheet from the bed and shoved it under the crack in the door to prevent more smoke from getting in, like they'd been taught in seventh-grade fire safety class. "We probably only have a few more minutes in here until the fire reaches the door," she told the others. "We have to figure out something fast."

Emily ran to the corner of the room, bumping against the closet door. Suddenly, she heard a small, thin cry. She froze. Everyone turned, hearing it, too. Ali? Emily thought.

But the cries were coming from somewhere very close. Then there were pounding sounds. Another cry. A muffled scream. Emily faced the closet. "Someone's in there!"

Spencer shot forward and turned the knob. The smell wafted out in putrid, powerful waves. Emily gagged, covering her mouth with the bottom of her shirt.

"Oh my God," Spencer shouted. Then Emily looked down and screamed louder than she'd ever screamed before. A rotted corpse was splayed out in the bottom of the almost-empty closet. The legs were bent halfway up the wall at a disfiguring angle, and the head lolled off to the left, resting on top of an Adidas shoe box. The skin was sallow yellow, and there was a horrible waxy substance on what was left of the cheeks. The skin and muscles around the mouth had rotted away into a hollow pit. The beautiful golden hair looked like a wig, and the forehead swarmed with maggots.

It was Ian Thomas.

Emily kept screaming and shut her eyes, but the image seemed branded on the back of her eyelids. Then, something shot forward and touched her foot. She shot back and tried to slam the door. "Stop!" Spencer screamed. "Emily, wait!"

Emily froze, whimpering. Spencer pushed around her and pulled another body from the closet, someone who'd almost been crushed by Ian's body. Emily gasped. It was a girl, her mouth gagged. Melissa. Her blue eyes stared at them imploringly.

Everyone helped to untie the thick ones around her wrists and ankles and pull the dirt tape from her mouth. Melissa immediately doubled over and began to cough. Tears streamed down her face. She collapsed into Spencer, her sobs tortured and terrified. "Are you okay?" Spencer cried.

"She kidnapped me and threw me in the trunk of the car," Melissa coughed. "I woke up a couple of times, but she kept drugging me to knock me out. And when I woke up again, I was in..." She trailed off, her eyes sliding to the half-opened closet. Her face contorted with pain.

Then, Melissa sniffed the air. The smoke was pouring into the room so fast, a fine gray haze had begun to swirl. Melissa began to shake. "We're all going to die."