Read Online Afterworlds by Scott Westerfeld - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Scott Westerfeld
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the smell of gun smoke, and let the squeak of running shoes on tile pass over me. The tear-shaped scar on my cheek began to pulse.
I knew what to say next: “Can you get to a safe location?”
The changes came fast—the flat and metallic taste in the air, the silence of the wind, the sudden cold wrapped around my heart.
When I opened my eyes again, color had been sucked out of the world. The sky was huge overhead, as gray as polished gunmetal. There was no sun, only a scattering of red stars, like eyes peering down. Flowing rivers of black oil snaked among the dunes, the air above them wavering with heat. A sugary smell washed over me, sweeter than boiling maple syrup. The dark rivers below were rippling and shivering like a live thing, and my hands and arms were shining.
“Yamaraj,” I whispered. It was the first time I’d said his name out loud, but it felt natural in my mouth. Like a word from a language I’d learned a long time ago and only half forgotten.
A shiver went through me, and my grip on this gray place slipped a little. Back in the airport, panic had almost thrown me out. But this time it was excitement, a current that ran along my skin.
I closed my eyes again, shutting out the huge gray sky. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for, but then another shift passed through the air. The scents of blood and gun smoke changed to something sharper, like a burning field of black pepper. And then a wave of heat . . .
“Elizabeth,” came his voice, and the cold inside me began to fade a little.
I opened my eyes and Yamaraj stood there, halfway up the dune, a dark figure against the white sand.
I didn’t know what to say at first. “Hello” seemed insufficient, ridiculous.
“It worked, didn’t it?” I managed. “This is real.”
He took a long, careful look at me, until a smile crossed his lips. “Very real, Lizzie.”
Him saying my nickname—my real name—made the edges of my vision pulse again with color, as if the daylight world were trying to break through.
Yamaraj was as beautiful as I remembered. He still shone, as if lit by the missing sun. He climbed the dune and knelt a few steps from where I sat.
“I’m impressed.” His voice was soft, serious.
“What do you mean?”
He spread his hands at the desert around us, the gray sky. “You crossed over on your own. You called me, and so soon.”
I shrugged, trying to look casual. But at my sides, my palms had closed around cool fistfuls of sand. “You said I could.”
“I said it would be better not to believe, Lizzie. Safer too.”
“It’s not like I had a choice.” With Yamaraj this close to me, the sharp, cold place inside had softened, and the words came easier. “There was a ghost in the hospital, a little boy. Which means I can see spirits now. Did you know that was going to happen to me?”
“I knew it might, but . . . How did you know it was a boy?”
I blinked. The question made no sense. “Um, because he just was ?”
“You could see him that well?”
“Sure. I didn’t even know he was dead at first. He just looked like . . . a kid. He said his name was Tom.”
Yamaraj sat a little straighter, as if I were suddenly something dangerous.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“It never happens this fast. At first, you should only see wisps of light, or hear stray noises. You talked to him?”
I’d been so proud of myself for crossing over to the afterworld, for calling Yamaraj. But now it felt like I’d done something wrong.
I tried to smile. “Quick learner. That’s what my Spanish teacher always says.”
“This is serious, Lizzie.”
“I know that.” My mouth went dry, the taste of anger sudden and bitter. “Did you think I missed the serious part of watching eighty-seven people die?”
“No,” he said simply, looking away across the desert. “But I hoped you’d forget. The changes fade, like scars, if you don’t believe.”
I took a few slow breaths. I wasn’t angry at
I knew what to say next: “Can you get to a safe location?”
The changes came fast—the flat and metallic taste in the air, the silence of the wind, the sudden cold wrapped around my heart.
When I opened my eyes again, color had been sucked out of the world. The sky was huge overhead, as gray as polished gunmetal. There was no sun, only a scattering of red stars, like eyes peering down. Flowing rivers of black oil snaked among the dunes, the air above them wavering with heat. A sugary smell washed over me, sweeter than boiling maple syrup. The dark rivers below were rippling and shivering like a live thing, and my hands and arms were shining.
“Yamaraj,” I whispered. It was the first time I’d said his name out loud, but it felt natural in my mouth. Like a word from a language I’d learned a long time ago and only half forgotten.
A shiver went through me, and my grip on this gray place slipped a little. Back in the airport, panic had almost thrown me out. But this time it was excitement, a current that ran along my skin.
I closed my eyes again, shutting out the huge gray sky. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for, but then another shift passed through the air. The scents of blood and gun smoke changed to something sharper, like a burning field of black pepper. And then a wave of heat . . .
“Elizabeth,” came his voice, and the cold inside me began to fade a little.
I opened my eyes and Yamaraj stood there, halfway up the dune, a dark figure against the white sand.
I didn’t know what to say at first. “Hello” seemed insufficient, ridiculous.
“It worked, didn’t it?” I managed. “This is real.”
He took a long, careful look at me, until a smile crossed his lips. “Very real, Lizzie.”
Him saying my nickname—my real name—made the edges of my vision pulse again with color, as if the daylight world were trying to break through.
Yamaraj was as beautiful as I remembered. He still shone, as if lit by the missing sun. He climbed the dune and knelt a few steps from where I sat.
“I’m impressed.” His voice was soft, serious.
“What do you mean?”
He spread his hands at the desert around us, the gray sky. “You crossed over on your own. You called me, and so soon.”
I shrugged, trying to look casual. But at my sides, my palms had closed around cool fistfuls of sand. “You said I could.”
“I said it would be better not to believe, Lizzie. Safer too.”
“It’s not like I had a choice.” With Yamaraj this close to me, the sharp, cold place inside had softened, and the words came easier. “There was a ghost in the hospital, a little boy. Which means I can see spirits now. Did you know that was going to happen to me?”
“I knew it might, but . . . How did you know it was a boy?”
I blinked. The question made no sense. “Um, because he just was ?”
“You could see him that well?”
“Sure. I didn’t even know he was dead at first. He just looked like . . . a kid. He said his name was Tom.”
Yamaraj sat a little straighter, as if I were suddenly something dangerous.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“It never happens this fast. At first, you should only see wisps of light, or hear stray noises. You talked to him?”
I’d been so proud of myself for crossing over to the afterworld, for calling Yamaraj. But now it felt like I’d done something wrong.
I tried to smile. “Quick learner. That’s what my Spanish teacher always says.”
“This is serious, Lizzie.”
“I know that.” My mouth went dry, the taste of anger sudden and bitter. “Did you think I missed the serious part of watching eighty-seven people die?”
“No,” he said simply, looking away across the desert. “But I hoped you’d forget. The changes fade, like scars, if you don’t believe.”
I took a few slow breaths. I wasn’t angry at
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