Page 21 of Awry
“Get in the fucking car and get out of there,” a deep voice says over the phone, clearer now.
“On the same page,” I say, making it up onto all fours.Well, kind of slumped on my knees and elbows, really.I doubt the snarling asshole on the other end of the phone can hear me, though.
“I went to the car …” Presh stammers.“I promise … but … I couldn’t … I couldn’t get it started.”She continues explaining, but I’m either missing chunks of sentences — my brain not quite firing properly yet — or she’s speaking very erratically.“… my arm … saw the phone … Rath.”
Rath.
That’s whose voice is coming through the phone, all snarling and demanding.
For a moment, he had sounded so familiar — in an aching, lost, other-life sort of way.Which didn’t make any sense.Doesn’t make sense.
Someone else groans nearby.I realize that while I was dead, Presh has managed to drag me only a couple of feet away from Chains.And Breaker.Hence all the blood soaked into the sand under my hands and knees.I turn my head the little I can control it and keep it steady at the same time.I look up at the sky.Does it look the same?
“How much … how long?”I try to ask, completely confused.
Presh gets what I mean, thankfully.“About fifteen minutes.”
Fifteen minutes?
How am I fucking awake, let alone trying to move, after only fifteen minutes?
The last time I died, I didn’t truly wake for a week.Though that wasn’t quite the same thing as all the times before, because I had simply dropped dead where I stood when my inheritance transferred to me without warning.When I became the Conduit.
But the last time, the time before that, eighteen months ago, I lost three days and woke up in a fucking morgue —
Then I feel theknowing.
The eddy of energy runs under my hands and knees, covered in blood and sand.It’s trying to tug me back to the car.Me and Presh.
We need to go.
Now.
I start crawling, leaving the makeshift shelter, the unconscious biker, and the dead berserker behind.I’m not capable of doing anything about what happened before I died right now.I’m only capable of falling into theknowingand hoping it keeps me moving.Ramifications, repercussions, will have to wait.
Because I wouldn’t have woken if staying on the beach was an option.
Presh is with me, tugging at my shoulder and trying to help me up.But she’s hurt.In a bunch of places that I don’t stop, can’t stop, to assess.
She’s also talking again.Into the phone, I think.“The car won’t start, and the … the motorcycles are … too heavy.”
I don’t hear Rath’s response.Presumably because he’s not shouting anymore.Or not shouting on speaker, at least.
Behind us, Chains groans again.Louder this time.He’s waking up.
I hesitate, pushing up onto my knees until I’m sitting back on my heels.My clothing is shredded and soaked in a mixture of congealing blood, rainwater, and gray sand.My hair is heavy with that combo too, draped over my shoulders.Otherwise, as far as I can see, I don’t have a scar or a wound on me.
I’m weak, lightheaded, and I’m so thin that my bones are jutting through my pale skin.But that’s all as expected, including losing the bulk of my muscle mass to fuel the transference from death to life.
Even if I was dead for only fifteen minutes this time.
I glance back at Chains.He’s sprawled where he fell, still partially up against the stone wall.
Presh crouches beside me, huddling into me.She cups the phone against her chest and shivers, her tank top and panties soaked through.“Yeah, he’s still alive.Should … we … kill him?”
I take a moment, trying to see the threads of life surrounding the shifter biker, but that part of my bag of tricks isn’t back online yet.Which confirms that I’m only on my feet because I need to get Presh out of here.
Well, partly on my feet.
