Read Online Those That Wake 02: What We Become by Jesse Karp - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jesse Karp
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goes, what he does. Turn the table on him.
But which librarian, you idiot? For how long?
She held her final position, watching the reference librarian stare down at his computer, direct a student, stare off into the distance.
“Hey, Laura. What you up to?” A whisper from behind. She turned: Dunphy, goofy smile, red hair, his huge frame lumbering to a stop; a student in her lit course, books clutched under an arm.
“Not now,” she hissed, hurrying past him and out of this stupid, stupid place.
Outside again, she sat on the stone steps, watching students come and go, others on the green washing back and forth from classes like a tide.
A tall boy with cellenses and a leather jacket sitting on a bench in the round seemed to keep turning his dark plastic eyes on her. But after five minutes, so did a girl with braids coming up the steps and a guy jogging by the front and a couple of girls sitting on the lawn with books spread out before them. Dunphy walked past her down the steps, pretending not to look at her, a metallic dot at his temple. Did he have that last week? Did
everyone
suddenly have them now?
Now she kept thinking she was going to see Josh. Or worse yet,
not
see him, even though he was out there somewhere, watching her flail about fruitlessly for answers. Why was she so easily able to imagine enemies everywhere around her?
Panic was edging up to her brain now, like before. She knew just what that panic led to: the crowd of fascinated students gathering around her toppled body, the visit to the hospital, her breathless parents insisting that she take a break for the rest of the semester. She was not going to let it happen again.
Laura rose and walked quickly from across the green, along the path to the parking lot. She got into her car and locked the doors. An off-to-college gift from her parents, their own three-year-old Prius, it now only gave her the comfort of a locked space . . . and mobility. She nodded.
“Okay,” she said, and started her up.
She drove out of Vassar, garnering a wave from the guard, and headed in no specific direction. Poughkeepsie blew past her, offering little more than its megalithic malls and the standard array of franchise restaurants between them. Its trafficked streets quickly gave way to greener areas, more expensive houses recessed from the street behind expansive lawns. She kept going until fields flanked her car, the highway far in the other direction, other cars passing at minute-long intervals.
She pulled onto the shoulder and got out and walked into the waist-length grass, soft and caressing; far, far out toward a border of trees in the distance. The only sound she heard was wind and a distant hum, maybe the highway or maybe an invention of her own ears. She collapsed, lying flat and staring up at blue.
The wind rustled the grass around her, made clouds slowly swim across her line of sight. Her eyes closed, and for no reason she saw city, tall buildings, shining reflective skyscrapers that made her uneasy.
There was a sound, a rhythmic rustling not from wind but from footsteps. She opened her eyes, focused her concentration. Footsteps for certain, coming nearer, but not exact. Observed from the road, she must have simply seemed to have disappeared in this tall grass when she lay down. Someone was trying to find her. Josh.
She stood abruptly, facing the direction from which she imagined the footsteps to be coming. Strange things were happening to her body: heart racing, yes, but muscles tightening, feet finding strong purchase, fists curling. Her father had never spared a moment to teach her to fight, if he even had any idea himself. Baseball, yes; boxing, definitely no.
The footsteps stopped; the figure spun toward her. But if he was surprised, his face remained resolutely unperturbed. He was most assuredly not Josh, but a surprisingly young—could he be more than fourteen?—thin and tall boy with a complexion that was treating him unkindly. His sharp
But which librarian, you idiot? For how long?
She held her final position, watching the reference librarian stare down at his computer, direct a student, stare off into the distance.
“Hey, Laura. What you up to?” A whisper from behind. She turned: Dunphy, goofy smile, red hair, his huge frame lumbering to a stop; a student in her lit course, books clutched under an arm.
“Not now,” she hissed, hurrying past him and out of this stupid, stupid place.
Outside again, she sat on the stone steps, watching students come and go, others on the green washing back and forth from classes like a tide.
A tall boy with cellenses and a leather jacket sitting on a bench in the round seemed to keep turning his dark plastic eyes on her. But after five minutes, so did a girl with braids coming up the steps and a guy jogging by the front and a couple of girls sitting on the lawn with books spread out before them. Dunphy walked past her down the steps, pretending not to look at her, a metallic dot at his temple. Did he have that last week? Did
everyone
suddenly have them now?
Now she kept thinking she was going to see Josh. Or worse yet,
not
see him, even though he was out there somewhere, watching her flail about fruitlessly for answers. Why was she so easily able to imagine enemies everywhere around her?
Panic was edging up to her brain now, like before. She knew just what that panic led to: the crowd of fascinated students gathering around her toppled body, the visit to the hospital, her breathless parents insisting that she take a break for the rest of the semester. She was not going to let it happen again.
Laura rose and walked quickly from across the green, along the path to the parking lot. She got into her car and locked the doors. An off-to-college gift from her parents, their own three-year-old Prius, it now only gave her the comfort of a locked space . . . and mobility. She nodded.
“Okay,” she said, and started her up.
She drove out of Vassar, garnering a wave from the guard, and headed in no specific direction. Poughkeepsie blew past her, offering little more than its megalithic malls and the standard array of franchise restaurants between them. Its trafficked streets quickly gave way to greener areas, more expensive houses recessed from the street behind expansive lawns. She kept going until fields flanked her car, the highway far in the other direction, other cars passing at minute-long intervals.
She pulled onto the shoulder and got out and walked into the waist-length grass, soft and caressing; far, far out toward a border of trees in the distance. The only sound she heard was wind and a distant hum, maybe the highway or maybe an invention of her own ears. She collapsed, lying flat and staring up at blue.
The wind rustled the grass around her, made clouds slowly swim across her line of sight. Her eyes closed, and for no reason she saw city, tall buildings, shining reflective skyscrapers that made her uneasy.
There was a sound, a rhythmic rustling not from wind but from footsteps. She opened her eyes, focused her concentration. Footsteps for certain, coming nearer, but not exact. Observed from the road, she must have simply seemed to have disappeared in this tall grass when she lay down. Someone was trying to find her. Josh.
She stood abruptly, facing the direction from which she imagined the footsteps to be coming. Strange things were happening to her body: heart racing, yes, but muscles tightening, feet finding strong purchase, fists curling. Her father had never spared a moment to teach her to fight, if he even had any idea himself. Baseball, yes; boxing, definitely no.
The footsteps stopped; the figure spun toward her. But if he was surprised, his face remained resolutely unperturbed. He was most assuredly not Josh, but a surprisingly young—could he be more than fourteen?—thin and tall boy with a complexion that was treating him unkindly. His sharp
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