Read Online Rebels Rising (Dark Rebels, #1) by Caitlin Falls - Free Book Online
Authors: Caitlin Falls
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knew, deep down, that was not the whole of it, but she did not know what else it could be. Outside the windows of the train, the city flashed past, then began to slowly turn to the suburbs. Small villages huddled near the train stations, and people stood out on the platforms, their eyes fixed on the distances beyond the trains moving past them.
They looked so lonely out there, so frail. The lights from the houses and stations seemed to flicker and gutter; they were like candles in a strong wind, one that would eventually wipe out their flame. The darkness grew more sinister, shadowing the hills and the houses, making everything look trivial and impermanent.
The clacking of the train’s wheels grew louder. Her head nodded toward her chest, and she closed her eyes. Her body relaxed.
The dark covered the houses, the hills, the businesses. The lights blew out like candles that could no longer withstand the wind. A long, low wail rose up from outside the train; she pressed her face against the glass of the window, her breath leaving a frosted vapor there.
She saw the people on the tracks as they were consumed by the darkness, one woman—a beautiful woman with long black hair and a pretty red skirt—fell into the path of the train, her screams rising above the howling of the wind before they were cut off by the endless clatter of the steel wheels.
Krista screamed and beat against the glass. Her hands went through it, sending sharp shards of glass flying out into the darkness beyond the train. Her hands bled red and her fingernails cracked and broke off as she grabbed the frame of the window, trying to leap from the train, trying to save the people out there, but arms held her back.
She turned to see Blake, his face set in grim lines. “Leave them,” he said.
“No!”
A figure walked down the aisles. It was Noite, and her head hung at a weird angle, her shirt was stained with blood, and her tongue hung thick and purple from her blue lips. “You let me die,” she said, and then her face changed, taking on a thousand different shapes. She became the woman who had fallen under the train, Blake, Tawny, Steven, even Janine, and a whole host of people Krista had never seen before.
“No! I wanted to come after you, but they held me back!”
“You could have done it yourself.”
Krista sat bolt upright. Sweat slicked her face and ran down her back, and she could smell its stench: acrid and sharp, coming from her armpits. Her hearing tuned up, and she heard the coughing of an infant at the other end of the train, the whisper of a page turning in a glossy magazine, and she could smell something, something so foul that it made her throat burn with vomit she could not hold back.
She bent her head between her knees and a thin line of acid-filled liquid spilled form her lips, landed on the floor. Tawny said, “Gross. No more pie for you.”
She sank back into her seat, miserable and still sick feeling. Her eyes ached and her throat was raw. Something was wrong, terribly and undeniably wrong. The train shuddered to a halt. A woman across the aisle gave her a filthy look, and Krista knew, knew, that the woman thought she was drunk. That she was just another reckless teenager with a lack of common sense and manners. She wanted to say something to the contrary, but it was all she could do to lurch up out of the seat and down to the doors.
Was Noite dead? Had she let her die? That weight settled on her shoulders, heavy and unrelenting. She knew she had killed Laurie, even if she had no say in the matter, and the thought of the suffering Noite had to go through at the hands of the doctors ( they call them Creators ) made her want to throw up all over again.
Creators? Where had that thought come from? Had she heard someone use that word? She did not know. The air outside the train tasted of burnt exhaust and metal. The sky was filled with tiny pricks of white light, stars that were burning high above their heads.
They walked
They looked so lonely out there, so frail. The lights from the houses and stations seemed to flicker and gutter; they were like candles in a strong wind, one that would eventually wipe out their flame. The darkness grew more sinister, shadowing the hills and the houses, making everything look trivial and impermanent.
The clacking of the train’s wheels grew louder. Her head nodded toward her chest, and she closed her eyes. Her body relaxed.
The dark covered the houses, the hills, the businesses. The lights blew out like candles that could no longer withstand the wind. A long, low wail rose up from outside the train; she pressed her face against the glass of the window, her breath leaving a frosted vapor there.
She saw the people on the tracks as they were consumed by the darkness, one woman—a beautiful woman with long black hair and a pretty red skirt—fell into the path of the train, her screams rising above the howling of the wind before they were cut off by the endless clatter of the steel wheels.
Krista screamed and beat against the glass. Her hands went through it, sending sharp shards of glass flying out into the darkness beyond the train. Her hands bled red and her fingernails cracked and broke off as she grabbed the frame of the window, trying to leap from the train, trying to save the people out there, but arms held her back.
She turned to see Blake, his face set in grim lines. “Leave them,” he said.
“No!”
A figure walked down the aisles. It was Noite, and her head hung at a weird angle, her shirt was stained with blood, and her tongue hung thick and purple from her blue lips. “You let me die,” she said, and then her face changed, taking on a thousand different shapes. She became the woman who had fallen under the train, Blake, Tawny, Steven, even Janine, and a whole host of people Krista had never seen before.
“No! I wanted to come after you, but they held me back!”
“You could have done it yourself.”
Krista sat bolt upright. Sweat slicked her face and ran down her back, and she could smell its stench: acrid and sharp, coming from her armpits. Her hearing tuned up, and she heard the coughing of an infant at the other end of the train, the whisper of a page turning in a glossy magazine, and she could smell something, something so foul that it made her throat burn with vomit she could not hold back.
She bent her head between her knees and a thin line of acid-filled liquid spilled form her lips, landed on the floor. Tawny said, “Gross. No more pie for you.”
She sank back into her seat, miserable and still sick feeling. Her eyes ached and her throat was raw. Something was wrong, terribly and undeniably wrong. The train shuddered to a halt. A woman across the aisle gave her a filthy look, and Krista knew, knew, that the woman thought she was drunk. That she was just another reckless teenager with a lack of common sense and manners. She wanted to say something to the contrary, but it was all she could do to lurch up out of the seat and down to the doors.
Was Noite dead? Had she let her die? That weight settled on her shoulders, heavy and unrelenting. She knew she had killed Laurie, even if she had no say in the matter, and the thought of the suffering Noite had to go through at the hands of the doctors ( they call them Creators ) made her want to throw up all over again.
Creators? Where had that thought come from? Had she heard someone use that word? She did not know. The air outside the train tasted of burnt exhaust and metal. The sky was filled with tiny pricks of white light, stars that were burning high above their heads.
They walked
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