Read Online Nemesis: Book Five by David Beers - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Beers
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reversed the car a bit, he didn't have much choice but to head into the white landscape.
Enough , he thought. The only reason you're waiting like this is because you don't want to miss your chance at seeing Morena. Death isn't what scares you and if you don't go in there, you'll never see her anyway, so get started.
He stepped out from behind the car door, not bothering to close it. The boy inside his head was completely still, watching Briten with full attention. The people in the car were probably doing the same, but Briten didn't care about them right now—didn't care about the boy, either. He had stood out here too long with nothing to show for it.
Time to go.
Once he started walking, he didn't stop. He moved across the asphalt with a speed that showed nothing of the doubt he felt back at the car. He kept going as his foot touched down on the first strand, bringing his left forward, and his right again.
Even as the strands jumped onto his shoes, he kept moving.
Even as they plunged into his toes, searching for the heat they needed to grow, he kept moving. They dug through his toenails, into the meat beneath, and then went further, wrapping themselves around his bones.
Pain jumped up his body, following the strands as they started consuming him. From his shoes, to his ankles, to his knees, to his hips, the white wires spread upward, grabbing hold of everything they could. Blood spurted from the tiny holes they made, filling his shoes so that as he kept moving, his feet squished around as if he had stepped out of a pool.
They plunged into his arms, and while Briten kept his eyes forward, he saw blood shooting from his body.
Morena, he thought. Please. Come for me .
He kept moving. Stopping didn't even enter his mind. Just the continual need to move one foot and then the other.
Even as the strands tried to slow him down, tried to hold him back so that they could grab more pieces of him, could steal more of his life.
He kept moving.
Even as the strands reached his face, his cheeks, pushing through them and into his mouth, where they met each other, intertwined, and then grabbed onto his tongue.
He kept moving forward. To his wife. Because for Briten, there was nothing else.
* * *
T he book lay discarded on the floor, the pages bent from being thrown without a thought.
Michael stood knee deep in blood.
It poured down from the ceiling, coming in through the vents. Some of it dropped straight down, splashing onto the tiled floor, and some flowed across the ceiling and down the walls as if running through tiny pipes—gravity not affecting it. In the end though, all the blood rushed to the floor.
Michael couldn't hear anything besides the liquid's rush.
He had watched as Briten started walking, his intention clear as any morning sunrise. He was going into the white and if he died doing it, he had decided that was completely fine.
Michael tried to wade through the blood, his clothes drenched, looking for an exit somewhere in this place. The thick liquid now approached his thighs, and his breath quickened with each half inch it rose. A part of his mind felt the pain running through his body, his actual physical body, but somehow the brunt of it was blocked. The blood inside this library was more pressing…
But isn't it just a representation of the pain outside? a part of him said, a rational piece.
Michael stopped walking as he understood the meaning. His brain dealt with the strands grabbing hold of his body here, like this, drowning him in his own blood—he wouldn't find a way out of the library, no matter how hard he looked. If his body died out there, then he would drown in here, without a doubt.
The blood reached his waist and still Michael didn't move.
He had to see what was happening outside, on Earth. What happened in here didn't matter, not right now.
Michael peered through his own eyes, the one's that looked out on a white landscape. The strands were grabbing every piece of him, yet Briten
Enough , he thought. The only reason you're waiting like this is because you don't want to miss your chance at seeing Morena. Death isn't what scares you and if you don't go in there, you'll never see her anyway, so get started.
He stepped out from behind the car door, not bothering to close it. The boy inside his head was completely still, watching Briten with full attention. The people in the car were probably doing the same, but Briten didn't care about them right now—didn't care about the boy, either. He had stood out here too long with nothing to show for it.
Time to go.
Once he started walking, he didn't stop. He moved across the asphalt with a speed that showed nothing of the doubt he felt back at the car. He kept going as his foot touched down on the first strand, bringing his left forward, and his right again.
Even as the strands jumped onto his shoes, he kept moving.
Even as they plunged into his toes, searching for the heat they needed to grow, he kept moving. They dug through his toenails, into the meat beneath, and then went further, wrapping themselves around his bones.
Pain jumped up his body, following the strands as they started consuming him. From his shoes, to his ankles, to his knees, to his hips, the white wires spread upward, grabbing hold of everything they could. Blood spurted from the tiny holes they made, filling his shoes so that as he kept moving, his feet squished around as if he had stepped out of a pool.
They plunged into his arms, and while Briten kept his eyes forward, he saw blood shooting from his body.
Morena, he thought. Please. Come for me .
He kept moving. Stopping didn't even enter his mind. Just the continual need to move one foot and then the other.
Even as the strands tried to slow him down, tried to hold him back so that they could grab more pieces of him, could steal more of his life.
He kept moving.
Even as the strands reached his face, his cheeks, pushing through them and into his mouth, where they met each other, intertwined, and then grabbed onto his tongue.
He kept moving forward. To his wife. Because for Briten, there was nothing else.
* * *
T he book lay discarded on the floor, the pages bent from being thrown without a thought.
Michael stood knee deep in blood.
It poured down from the ceiling, coming in through the vents. Some of it dropped straight down, splashing onto the tiled floor, and some flowed across the ceiling and down the walls as if running through tiny pipes—gravity not affecting it. In the end though, all the blood rushed to the floor.
Michael couldn't hear anything besides the liquid's rush.
He had watched as Briten started walking, his intention clear as any morning sunrise. He was going into the white and if he died doing it, he had decided that was completely fine.
Michael tried to wade through the blood, his clothes drenched, looking for an exit somewhere in this place. The thick liquid now approached his thighs, and his breath quickened with each half inch it rose. A part of his mind felt the pain running through his body, his actual physical body, but somehow the brunt of it was blocked. The blood inside this library was more pressing…
But isn't it just a representation of the pain outside? a part of him said, a rational piece.
Michael stopped walking as he understood the meaning. His brain dealt with the strands grabbing hold of his body here, like this, drowning him in his own blood—he wouldn't find a way out of the library, no matter how hard he looked. If his body died out there, then he would drown in here, without a doubt.
The blood reached his waist and still Michael didn't move.
He had to see what was happening outside, on Earth. What happened in here didn't matter, not right now.
Michael peered through his own eyes, the one's that looked out on a white landscape. The strands were grabbing every piece of him, yet Briten
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