The Risen (Book 2): Margaret Read Online Free Page B

and I would mimic an airplane flight attendant with the routine line of making sure all trays are in their upright position. There is no comedy to be inspired today though, but our eyes still meet out of habit.
    Hers are no longer the soft pastel of teal coloring I am used to seeing. They are faded and dull with worry as the many tall tales are circulating in her mind. We thought we had time to prepare ourselves for this. We should have held the time span of many hours still before forming this line. There should have been time to disprove the rumors, building courage in our over-beating hearts that race as reality is upon us with questions asked to those that went before our time.
    It is just a shot, right? A shot with many needles, from a machine that will force not really dead things into us, making our arms grow numb, unable to withstand the amount of pain that it will cause.
    No big deal at all. My sarcasm has no bounds.
    One by one, we make our way to the “waiting wall”. This is where we form the long line of our class before making our way to any place in the building. There is no need for any extra words of caution about behavior. We are somber already, standing silent like an army awaiting a battle to come. Perhaps we are closer to mourners awaiting the march out of the church. Either way, as the line reluctantly grows, we are ready to follow the procedure, even if we are not ready for the results.
    Half of us grow anxious as the room grows dark with the lights being turned off in the final count down of departure. The other half grows more somber, retreating into some private place of security to conceal their concerns. I bounce between each half as one moment I am lured into the fears and the next I take deep breaths to escape the panic.
    “Maybe we will get cartoon Band Aids.” I whisper to April.
    My voice shocks her from her own thoughts and she startles a little from it before turning to me with those still lackluster eyes. “What?” Her voice is paper-thin.
    Normally, whispering in line is an art form perfected to avoid the ever watchful eyes of our teacher. Today, we don’t hold the enthusiasm to play the game and are overly bold.
    Perhaps being forced to the back of the line would not hold the normal threat today? I think about it, but the risk to my spotless record will not agree with me.
    “Like in the doctor offices. You go in, and they have all these different Band Aids to choose from. I wonder if they will have any.” The look April gives me makes me wonder what has grown on my face while I was talking. She peers at me as if I have just spoken a foreign language and she can either not understand me or believe me. My father gives me that look, a lot. You know, when he remembers me.
    “Just trying to find something positive.” I mutter, shrugging with the rejection.
    “Do you think the dead things will live in us forever?” April is still holding onto the fears from earlier.
    What will happen when she catches up to the needle rumors?
    “She said they are not really dead, but even so, how can anything that is any level of dead live anywhere? Isn’t that the whole point of being dead?” My answer only causes more questions.
    It is starting to sound like one of those never ending debates on talk shows my father enjoys. The boringly dressed men sit around in overly large black chairs “discussing” a current topic without any of them really holding any real answers to the questions. They just like to talk, my mother tells me whenever I ask what is the point of the shows. To think he prefers those to cartoons still baffles me.
    Dancing bears, people, really. Who wouldn’t love dancing bears? I will never understand the man.
    “So they will just be floating inside us forever?” There is no misunderstanding her opinion of that with her facial expression.
    “I guess? I haven’t thought much about it.” It is the truth. I am still caught in the net of fears over the needle. My mind has not