Read Online Vial Things (A Resurrectionist Novel Book 1) by Leah Clifford - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Leah Clifford
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can’t take it anymore. “Allie?” I say softly.
She sniffs hard and brushes a few stray strands of hair away from her cheek. “Forget it. I’m fine,” she says with a laugh that tells me she’s not.
Everything inside me itches, the same way it did at the camp before I found Brandon. I want to run, get away, but I’m not even sure I can stand.
My eye catches on a needle on the armrest of the couch. The thing’s huge; nothing like the used sharps dropped around the worst parts of the boxcars. Allie follows my line of vision. “Did you stick that in me?” I ask in shock.
“I...No. It’s…” She presses her lips together and then she starts again. “Fine. I did. I had to.”
“Why?” The question comes out shaky. It’s what anyone would ask, what she’d expect me to ask, but anticipation knots my stomach.
She gives me an uncertain look. “We need to talk.”
My fingers catch the sheet and move it aside to reveal the rest of my torn, bloodstained shirt. I can see the angry scarred edges of the wound, puckered and barely healed around the stitches. Healed. My fingers brush over it as my jaw drops.
“You told me you didn’t want to die,” she whispers.
She did it. I can’t believe she actually did it.
“You healed me,” I say in disbelief. I have enough sense to twist the end into a question.
“I can heal people.” There’s hesitation in her voice. “But you needed more than that.” My head snaps up. “Left side, right under your ribs is your spleen,” she says, laying a hand on the spot she’s talking about, the place Jamison got me. “I think that’s what the knife hit. By the time you got to my door, you’d lost too much blood.” She scoots away a bit as if to give me space, almost like she’s afraid of how I’ll react to what’s coming. “You were dead when I found you.” she says.
“You—” brought me back I start but I have the sense to swallow the words. A tremor starts in my fingers.
“It’s not a joke and it’s not a trick.” She keeps her voice steady, projecting a calm I can’t grasp as my heart hammers. “You’re alive now only because I got to you before the death became permanent.”
The bubble of fear and excitement and disbelief building inside of me bursts. My breathing ratchets up, pulse skyrocketing and suddenly the pain is back, throbbing and awful. Dead. I was dead. “What did you do to me?”
She winces as if I’ve accused her of something terrible, when really I need to know how, what. How did she bring me back? What’d she put in the syringe?
“I’m human, okay? Don’t look at me like I’m a monster!” she spits. “You’re human, too. Nothing’s different. You’re not a zombie or anything.” When I don’t react, she drops her eyes. “Do you think you can stand?”
The question throws me off. I nod distractedly as I flex my fingers. I don’t feel anything except for the ache low on my side. No power. No sense of being something more. She grabs the hand hovering in the air between us and I shift my legs under me, rise to my knees. If anything, as I stand I’m weaker, drained. My knees wobble. She catches my elbow and steadies me before I can fall.
“We need to get you to the couch,” she says, grunting under my weight as I struggle to keep balanced. “You’ll be more comfortable.”
I take tentative steps, sure any second I’ll drag us to the floor. I have to focus. Now’s the time to ask questions. She seems shaken. She might answer them. “I don’t understand how you can do this,” I start.
“What, drag your ass to the couch?” she says and I roll my eyes. It earns me half a laugh from her before she goes serious again. “It’s a genetic thing. My mom had it. So does my aunt.”
“And now me?” It comes out breathless. I can’t hide my anticipation.
To my disappointment, she shakes her head. “Don’t worry. It just gets you up and moving again.”
“Oh,” I say quietly. Jamison is not going to
She sniffs hard and brushes a few stray strands of hair away from her cheek. “Forget it. I’m fine,” she says with a laugh that tells me she’s not.
Everything inside me itches, the same way it did at the camp before I found Brandon. I want to run, get away, but I’m not even sure I can stand.
My eye catches on a needle on the armrest of the couch. The thing’s huge; nothing like the used sharps dropped around the worst parts of the boxcars. Allie follows my line of vision. “Did you stick that in me?” I ask in shock.
“I...No. It’s…” She presses her lips together and then she starts again. “Fine. I did. I had to.”
“Why?” The question comes out shaky. It’s what anyone would ask, what she’d expect me to ask, but anticipation knots my stomach.
She gives me an uncertain look. “We need to talk.”
My fingers catch the sheet and move it aside to reveal the rest of my torn, bloodstained shirt. I can see the angry scarred edges of the wound, puckered and barely healed around the stitches. Healed. My fingers brush over it as my jaw drops.
“You told me you didn’t want to die,” she whispers.
She did it. I can’t believe she actually did it.
“You healed me,” I say in disbelief. I have enough sense to twist the end into a question.
“I can heal people.” There’s hesitation in her voice. “But you needed more than that.” My head snaps up. “Left side, right under your ribs is your spleen,” she says, laying a hand on the spot she’s talking about, the place Jamison got me. “I think that’s what the knife hit. By the time you got to my door, you’d lost too much blood.” She scoots away a bit as if to give me space, almost like she’s afraid of how I’ll react to what’s coming. “You were dead when I found you.” she says.
“You—” brought me back I start but I have the sense to swallow the words. A tremor starts in my fingers.
“It’s not a joke and it’s not a trick.” She keeps her voice steady, projecting a calm I can’t grasp as my heart hammers. “You’re alive now only because I got to you before the death became permanent.”
The bubble of fear and excitement and disbelief building inside of me bursts. My breathing ratchets up, pulse skyrocketing and suddenly the pain is back, throbbing and awful. Dead. I was dead. “What did you do to me?”
She winces as if I’ve accused her of something terrible, when really I need to know how, what. How did she bring me back? What’d she put in the syringe?
“I’m human, okay? Don’t look at me like I’m a monster!” she spits. “You’re human, too. Nothing’s different. You’re not a zombie or anything.” When I don’t react, she drops her eyes. “Do you think you can stand?”
The question throws me off. I nod distractedly as I flex my fingers. I don’t feel anything except for the ache low on my side. No power. No sense of being something more. She grabs the hand hovering in the air between us and I shift my legs under me, rise to my knees. If anything, as I stand I’m weaker, drained. My knees wobble. She catches my elbow and steadies me before I can fall.
“We need to get you to the couch,” she says, grunting under my weight as I struggle to keep balanced. “You’ll be more comfortable.”
I take tentative steps, sure any second I’ll drag us to the floor. I have to focus. Now’s the time to ask questions. She seems shaken. She might answer them. “I don’t understand how you can do this,” I start.
“What, drag your ass to the couch?” she says and I roll my eyes. It earns me half a laugh from her before she goes serious again. “It’s a genetic thing. My mom had it. So does my aunt.”
“And now me?” It comes out breathless. I can’t hide my anticipation.
To my disappointment, she shakes her head. “Don’t worry. It just gets you up and moving again.”
“Oh,” I say quietly. Jamison is not going to
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