Dead Girls Don't Sing (The Undead Space Initiative Book 2) by Casey Wyatt

Author:Casey Wyatt [Wyatt, Casey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: k'12
Publisher: Casey Wyatt
Published: 2017-12-17T16:00:00+00:00

I stood on a sidewalk, knees weak, hunger clawing at me.

One moment I was in an Edwardian library, the next, downtown London. Street lamps bathed everyone and everything in a solid, and somewhat unflattering, yellow glow. Exhaust clogged the air and heat rose from the pavement warming the soles of my thin shoes.

My wrist pulsed under the weight of the cuff. A faint puff of steam rose from it. I hoped I wouldn’t have to jump again. I wasn’t sure I believed that I could do it by will alone.

The Tarot card remained clutched in my right hand. How had it made the journey when nothing else did? Maybe the cuff had something to do with it.

Come to think of it, how would I get the cure back to Mars? I hoped it was something I could hold in my hand.

A passerby hurrying to reach a shop bumped me into awareness. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a storefront window that had captured everyone’s attention.

I moved closer. Rows of televisions were broadcasting the same event. An excited newscaster repeated the same information at regular intervals.

The crowd stood in awe, many smiling, others slack jawed with wonder. An older gentlemen looked out of time with his fedora. Several middle-aged women wore their hair puffed high, coated with enough hairspray to be fire hazards. The younger mortals were long haired and shaggy.

I tried not to sneeze from the distinct odor of weed mixed with incense. The bell-bottoms and short skirts told me I’d been transported to the late 1960s. I stood silently, waiting for the effects of the time jump to wear off. Praying that nobody elbowed me too hard, because I might barf on them. Even though the English were unfailingly polite, I doubted they’d appreciate it if I got sick.

“Let me see!” A sandy-haired boy bobbed up and down trying to get a view of the tiny black-and-white screens.

Astonishment robbed everyone of speech. The entire street went silent, attention fixed on the astronaut stepping down a ladder. Neil Armstrong’s voice echoed across time and space as he took his giant leap for mankind.

After another moment of hushed silence, cheers and enthusiastic applause erupted.

“Can you believe it?” said a man next to me, reeking of pipe smoke. “The Yanks did it first. Landed a man on the moon.”

I nodded. I wasn’t great with historical dates, but this one I knew. Sunday, July 20, 1969 was a big day for humanity.

Finally feeling more like myself, I muttered, “Mars is better,” before stepping out of the crowd.

The man probably thought I was nuts. Whatever. I had other more pressing issues to deal with. The mirror lady’s message made a whole lot more sense now.

It’s not that I didn’t find the moon landing interesting or significant. Especially since I recalled living through it the first time. Like I’ve said before, undead time works differently. I don’t remember a lot of what I was doing in the sixties.

If I had to guess, I was working in the club, then partying with Jay until the sun rose.

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