Dead Girl Running (The New Order Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

ever given you, Miss Silvia Wood. I’m taking you on a little field trip.”
    “Where are we going?” My eyes fly open. This is awesome. I never go anywhere.
    He drops his voice to a side-whisper. “You get to help me with the next body disposal.”
    “Really?” I ask, breathless. “I’ve never even been to the edge of the city before. I’ve only seen pictures of it. It’s part of the reason why—” I stop and press my lips together. I don’t want to offend him or hurt his feelings.
    “Yeah, I know Mortuary Science wasn’t the job you’ve always dreamed of. But you fit in so perfectly here. In fact, maybe sometime we’ll drive by Green Food Production when they’re in the middle of Natural Fertilization, so you’ll believe me that it smells worse there than it does in here.”
    I grin at his pride. “Thanks, Gus.”
    “You’re welcome. Think of it as a little vacation. You, me, three dozen dead bodies, and the Incinerator.”
    “I can’t wait.” Funny thing is, I mean it.



y head buzzes with questions on my way to the Gym after work. What will I learn at the Incinerator? What will I get to do? And the biggest, most wonderful questions of all: What does the edge of the city look like? Will I finally get to see what’s beyond the fences?
    I’ve wondered about the Dark Woods ever since I can remember. I’ve heard tales of endless forests filled with life-giving trees and life-taking monsters. My grade school Health and Safety book contained pictures of wolves feasting on human flesh, their teeth ripping and tearing muscle tissue right off the bone.
    Wait a minute. Human Disposal always happens at night, so everything will be dark. I won’t be able to see anything anyway. Shoot. That sucks.
    I step into the shade of the 37 th Northwest Street Gym. After swiping my I.D. card through the scanner, I enter and hustle up the stairs. The third floor is packed like never before. I pass by a crowd of people gawking at the electronic bulletin boards. There must be a new class or something, but I’m not interested. I’ve reserved a treadmill for an hour, and I intend to use it. In the locker room, I approach the uniform counter to place my order.
    “Running shorts and tank top, please,” I tell the skinny, ponytailed attendant.
    “Are you in training?” she asks.
    “For what?”
    “The Race for Citizen Glory. Didn’t you see the notice up on the boards? Everybody’s doing it because of all the awards.”
    I shake my head. “I’m not interested in any race. I just run for me.”
    “Okay, then.” She hands over a worn pair of black and white shorts and a faded pink tank top.
    On my left, a young woman pushes her way to the counter. “I need running clothes. If I’m going to compete in that big race, I’d better get in shape. It’s only two months away.”
    The same attendant hands her a brand new pair of shorts and bright green T-shirt sporting the slogan:
In Training for Citizen Glory.
The young woman struts off. Her legs don’t have any muscle tone. I could
so
beat her.
    I turn to the attendant. “Did she get nicer shorts than me because she’s training for that race?”
    “Of course. It’s a big deal. Why aren’t you doing it? You’re here all the time anyway.”
    “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll think about it,” I tell her, but that’s a lie. I run for myself and no one else.
    I wander into the changing area and switch into my government-issue workout clothes. I check my watch. There’s five minutes left before my treadmill reservation, so I march up to the electronic bulletin board. Words flash across the screen of the muted video announcements. The reel starts over every few minutes, showing old footage of runners, all in the same uniform, racing the streets of the Panopticus. Two lanes have been blocked off for the race. Yellow words slide across the bottom of the screen:
    Accept the Citizen Challenge to run 13.1 miles. Win prizes and improve your fitness profile. Receive