Afterworlds Read Online Free

afterworld, my dear.”
    For a moment it was like falling again, the floor droppingout from under me. The distant rumbling sound grew louder in my ears.
    “Are you saying . . . I’m dead ?”
    She glanced up at my forehead again. “The dead don’t bleed.”
    I blinked, not knowing what to say.
    “It’s very simple.” She spoke carefully, as if explaining something to a child. “You willed your way here. My brother is just like you.”
    I shook my head. Anger was rising up in me, along with the certainty that she was trying to be confusing.
    But before I could say something rude, an awful sound came through the mist.
    Squeak, squeak . . . tennis shoes on the tile floor.
    I spun around, staring into the formless gray. “It’s him!”
    “Stay calm.” The girl stepped forward to take my hand. Her fingers were cold, and their iciness flowed into me, stilling my panic. “It isn’t safe yet.”
    “But he’s . . .” Squeak, squeak.
    I faced the sound as he emerged from the cloud—the gunman who’d shot at me. He looked even more hideous now, with a gas mask hiding his face. He was coming straight toward us.
    “No,” I said.
    The girl took my shoulder. “Don’t move.”
    Frozen by her command, I expected the terrorist to raise his gun and fire. But he walked past us— through us, as if we were smoke and mist.
    I turned and watched him recede into the cloud. His passage swirled the gray behind him, clearing a column of air. I saw plastic chairs and television screens and bodies lying on the floor.
    “This is the airport,” I murmured.
    The girl frowned. “Of course it is.”
    “But why—”
    Inside the swirling clouds something flashed, a metal cylinder clattering along the floor toward us. The size of a soft drink can, it rolled to a stop a few yards away, spinning and hissing, spraying more smoke into the air. In seconds the clear passage that the gunman had created filled with mist again.
    “Tear gas,” I murmured. This wasn’t heaven. It was a battle zone.
    Security is responding , the woman on the phone had said. I finally realized that the roaring sound was gunfire, muted by distance or whatever had gone wrong with my senses.
    “Don’t worry,” the girl said. “Nothing can hurt you here.”
    I turned to her. “Where’s here ? None of this makes sense!”
    “Try to pay attention,” she said, exasperated now. “You’ve thought your way into the afterworld, and if you go back to reality, you’ll be shot. So stay calm !”
    I stared at her, unable to speak or move or think. It was all too much.
    She sighed. “Just wait here. I’ll get my brother.”
    *  *  *
    I was afraid to move after she left.
    The mist—or tear gas, I suppose—would clear now and then, and I could see bodies around me. Their clothes and faces were gray, like the rest of the world. Everything was leached of color, except for my own hands and the red blood I’d wiped away from my eyes.
    Wherever this was, I didn’t belong here. I was too alive.
    It was long minutes of waiting before another shape loomed out of the mist—a boy my age. I could see the resemblance to his sister, except that his skin wasn’t gray like hers. It was as brown as mine at the end of a long summer at the beach, and jet-black hair fell just above his shoulders. He wore a silk shirt that rippled like a dark liquid across his skin.
    Even in that awful moment, I could see that he was beautiful. He shone somehow, as if sunlight were breaking through the mist, just for him. He was one of those boys with a perfect jaw, who looks stunning when he’s clean shaven, but just that little bit more handsome with the barest shadow of stubble.
    “Don’t be afraid,” he said.
    I tried to answer, but my mouth was dry.
    “My name is Yamaraj,” he said. “I can help you.”
    He had the same accent as his sister—from India, I thought, with a touch of England. His words came out precisely, like someone who’d learned English in a