Almost Dead (Dead, #1) (11 page)

“They can’t harm you,” Sara says, watching the souls of the Damaged claw at the smothering expanse
that contains them, “and they’re only visible during a certain time, mostly early morning.”

“But it’s so…
sad,” I say, for lack of a better word.

“I’m afraid those are the rules.” Sara doesn’t go into detail about
who
makes the rules, but I have a feeling it might be the Elders she spoke about before—and I’m guessing they have nothing to do with guiding spirits.

I watch Sara,
which is kind of creepy, I guess. She doesn’t move, but there’s something intensely philosophical about her silhouette. Like she’s trapped here and knows she can’t progress to a more beautiful, peaceful place. How long has Lichburn been her home? Did her family pass on long ago, leaving her behind? Will she ever see them again?

If that happens to me, if I end up on the same sinking ship, plummeting down, down, down to this realm, how would I feel? I can’t answer tha
t. Even though I want to scream,
Yes! I will miss my family and friends.
Truth is: I don’t know that I would.

“Fifteen minutes,” Sara says, breaking the stillness in the air. She
steps away from the window and sits on the armrest of the sofa, wrapping a throw around herself. Does the chill of death radiate all around her? Can she
feel
a person dying? That’d be the worst gift in the history of gifts.

“Will it hurt?” I realize this question might be a little vague, so I add, “Going
to the Shadowlands, I mean. Will it hurt my spirit form, or my physical self?”

Sara shakes her head. “No, it won’t hurt. I can’t describe what it’ll be like for you, though. The experience is different for each person, because each person sees the world differently.”

That doesn’t help calm the sickness in the pit of Kn tto my stomach, or my heart pattering wildly inside my chest. Even my palms are damp. But I have to wonder what this event will be like for me. Is it beautiful? Frightening? Should I take Sara’s word that it won’t injure me?

“He’s fading,”
Sara murmurs forlornly, her eyes drooping a little more. “It won’t be much longer.”

My throat feels like it’s having
an allergic reaction, all swollen and itchy. Or maybe that’s my mind playing tricks on me.

“And what will happen before I get there?
” I wheeze. “Another portal?”

“No. It just…happens. You’ll see.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

Sara eyes me for two very long seconds. “There’s nothing to worry about, Flora
. You need to focus, use your energy wisely. Don’t expend it. Make your family
believe
.”

I nod a couple of times. “Yeah. Believe.” Why am I so nervous?

Sara’s eyebrows scrunch together, and her eyes dart back and forth, studying something I can’t see. Every last one of her facial features relaxes. She takes a moment to inhale deeply, eyes trained on the wooden floorboards. When she looks up, she pins me with her gaze, exclaiming, “It’s time.”

O
h, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

I can’t do this. I mean, I
have
to—it’s not like I want to die just yet—but I don’t know what’s next, and that’s the part that scares the shit out of me. 

Before another
pessimistic thought weaves through my mind, I’m sucked into a tunnel between Lichburn and the Shadowlands. Only, this tunnel swirls and twists and pulls me in every direction, like a tornado. I can see a glow at the end, or the top—I’m not sure which way is up right now. My right arm looks like it’s evaporating, similar to heat rising off pavement in the summertime.

I open
my mouth to scream and crash onto land. Surrounding me is high chain-link fence, a diamond of dirt, and bleachers. Great. I’m at the baseball field. Now I have to walk miles to get home. It would’ve been so much easier if I fell onto my front porch.

Can’t ghosts just float? That wo
uld make traveling a lot smoother, especially since the Shadowlands isn’t as confined as Lichburn. Well, that’s how I felt when I was down there, anyway. But if the Shadowlands mimics our world, then it’s ginormous.

I stand up, ready to brush myself off, but there’s no
soil on my pants. Because, Nn tto

Absorbing my surroundings, I notice e
verything in this world is tinted gray, and just as depressing as Lichburn. The trees, the ground, the sky—everything is dull and lifeless. I had hoped I’d at least see the world—
my
world—like I did when I was here before:
in color.

And what the hell
is that noise? It sounds like static, low and crackly, like someone has a TV stuck on a channel that isn’t there.

Whatever. If I’m going to make it, I can’t bitch and moan.
Laney’s stuck in Lichburn, while I have my second chance. How selfish will I be, standing here and complaining about the afterlife when I’m not dead yet?

Okay, which direct
ion is my house from here? Wait… What day is it? Stupid, stupid, stupid. That’s something I should’ve asked Sara
before
I was transported back. Even though they don’t have a sun, moon, and stars, they still have day and night in Lichburn, but that doesn’t mean it’s the same as my world.

“Well,” I say
to myself—because who else is gonna hear me?—“there’s only one way to find out.”

Home.

My destination.

It’d
be nice to know that my family does care about me, that I can return and they’ll have a search party set up. But I have to be realistic. They may think I’ve run away, and that means all they can do is file a missing persons report after the first forty-eight hours. How ironic is it that I’m right under their noses, not fleeing at all?

I begin to walk. Everything’s so hazy in the afterlife, though
—and unclear in more ways than one. Shapes and places aren’t firmly set, like they’re just wisps of my imagination. After I realize the ground isn’t
really
shifting, I try to remember which way is home and figure out why my memory of home is muddled.

Sara didn’t tell me about these side effects
.

I’m completely alone, too. Sara’s not here. Laney’s not here. I have to make this happen.
Me.
But with only a few days to do it, I second guess whether convincing my family can be done. They might be camping with the Reynolds family, as they often do on weekends.

I sigh. Sara wasn’t kidding when she enforce
d the energy rule. I feel so drained. So exhausted. My ankles feel like weights are fastened to them, and I’ve only made it to the main road. My mind doesn’t want to function, either. Like, I’m telling myself to continue walking, but all I can think is: where’s my home, and how Someey’ll do I get there from here?

The street I’m on is named
Orzo Avenue. It doesn’t stir up any memories, so I don’t know if I’m headed in the right direction, but I’ll eventually end up someplace I’m familiar with.

“Why didn’t you tell me
how hard this is, or that I have static accompanying me?” I call out, like Sara’s an illusionist and will suddenly appear in a cloud of smoke.

A car drives by, unaware I’m here. In another dimension. But still here.

If I live, how will I explain this?

There are other, bigger
things that require explanation: I can’t tell what the weather is like. I can’t see the sun or the moon or the stars. I can’t hear birds serenading anyone who listens. I don’t feel snowflakes landing softly on my cheeks and dissolving into tiny droplets of water, as they always do around this time of year. No sound from the dead leaves crunching underneath my shoes, or the car that just passed by. How can I not hear
anything
? Except the maddening static, of course. How will I know what my parents are talking about, or if they’re searching in the right area? This is bad. Very bad.

Okay, I need to think, remember something. Remember this street. Remember these houses. Remember a car.

What car did I drive? Was it brand new? Was it beat up, with a bumper hanging off? I don’t know. The more I try to recall what my life was like before, the more energy leaves my weak spirit, and the more I seem to forget.

Why can’t they have spirit guides in
the Shadowlands? It’d make maneuvering around this space
so
much easier. Like taxi cab drivers for the dead—or
almost
dead, in my case. I’m trying not to think about it, but it’s hard when every second I’m semi-alive, I’m thismuchcloser to dying.

The road tees off with another road
and more houses. Even though I can’t hear a damn thing, I can still see. There’s a main highway two streets over. Cars whoosh past brick fences, speeding toward their destinations. That has to be something! I mean, I haven’t seen much in the past two blocks (nothing that will lead me home, anyway), so maybe if I follow that road, I’ll get there.

I break into a sprint, pl
owing over fences, through shrubbery, and past angry dogs, stopping as soon as I reach the street. It looks…familiar. Did I used to drive on this? It’s not far from the high school. Maybe someone I can identify with is in one of those cars.

So
, I propel myself to do the craziest thing ever (other than visiting the afterlife): I stand in oncoming traffic.

Every time a car travels through me, I duck my head a little to see their face. Not the best idea, but
definitely not the worst. Since I don’t have much time and all…
S/fotheir face

These faces don’t register any
particular moment in my mind, though. Just normal people who have no clue a lost, almost-dead girl stands in the middle of the road as they pass right through her. Too bad I can’t make myself materialize so I can see their terrified expressions. Well, scratch that; it might be a bad idea. An accident got me here in the first place, and I don’t wish the same crappy turn of events on someone else.

Standing here and waiting for someone I know won’t get me anywhere.
I have to continue moving, until I find my home. What if I don’t ever find it? What if that’s the catch—once a person’s spirit returns to this realm, they slowly begin to forget who they really are?

My
heart drums in my chest, and a slow warmth spreads throughout my body, from head to toe, as Derek passes me. There’s a four-way stop up ahead, and I hope he’ll halt long enough that I can jump into the backseat. Kicking up my heels as fast as they can go, I break into a sprint. A memory surfaces.

“You ready?” Dad asks Derek, as th
ey stand around the kitchen while Mom finishes getting ready.

Derek smiles and nods. “Oh, yeah. I can’t wait.”

Dad clears his throat. “Now, you know there are rules we need to discuss once everything is finalized. No texting while driving
…
No drinking then driving
…
”

“Dad, I got it.” Derek chuckles. “I know. I’ll be all right.”

But Dad doesn’t seem so certain when he exhales loudly.

Mom descends the stairs in a rush. “Sorry I’m keeping us. Is everyone ready?”

“No,” I mumble. Dad heard me.