Vial Things (The Resurrectionists Book 1) by Leah Clifford

Author:Leah Clifford [Clifford, Leah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inked Entertainment
Published: 2020-04-14T05:00:00+00:00

Allie

I open my eyes to branches four feet above my face. Footsteps crunch leaves. Close. Ploy. If it’s anyone else, I don’t have a chance at fighting them. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Even before I move, my muscles are screaming. I roll my head to get a peek and realize I’m not in the open. There’s a shelter of sticks and brush. The sleeping bag is wrapped around me.

Blinking, I sit up. Dark spots swirl through my vision as my head starts to spin. Apparently, getting shot to death feels a lot like a hangover. I’m debating whether I’m just nauseous or actually going to throw up when Ploy ducks in through the low entrance. I eye him warily.

“Hey, you’re awake.” He gets on his knees and shuffles closer under the low ceiling. A bruise shades his left cheek, green and yellowed. The bone must have been broken. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like crap.” I’m not sure I want him knowing how weak I am, but I can’t exactly pass myself off as anything else right now.

“Those pills must have been pretty intense.” His voice lowers. “I couldn’t wake you up.” There’s a hint of fear to his words.

My throat is parched. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have taken anything.” In truth, it probably had more to do with the fact that his blood wasn’t strong enough, copycat cells. Most of mine was on the kitchen floor. I shouldn’t have told him anything about how to bring someone back, but that’s easy to say now that I know he would have gotten me out of the house. I’d panicked. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

His forehead wrinkles. “You were in pain, Allie. Hurt. Bad.” He’s right, though it doesn’t look like I’ve cost us too much time. And then he goes on. “I figured once the sun started to set you weren’t going to get up, so I made sure we were hidden,” he says as he rummages through his pack. He hands me a smashed granola bar. “Eat that. Sorry, it’s a little beat up.”

“Wait, what about sunset?”

He stares at me for a moment. “It’s morning.”

My stomach gives a hungry lurch as if to confirm. The thought of being utterly defenseless for so long only adds to the queasiness. My brain’s foggy. Words are fighting their way back into my consciousness. Crunching leaves. Ploy pacing on a phone call. Apparently, you nicked my spleen or something?

I wince and give my head a shake. That can’t be right. He’d been talking about being robbed, the stab wound. The drugs, I think. They messed with my dreams. He doesn’t have a phone and mine’s dead. But in the dream, he hadn’t said ‘he nicked my spleen’, he’d said ‘you.’ You nicked my spleen.

“How long do you normally take to get moving again once you...you know, die or whatever?” he asks and I try to focus. He saved me. Jamison was coming but Ploy did what I said with his blood and got us both away.

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