Series: The Un Series by Izzy Sweet
Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
That would explain all the cars in the parking lot and the empty halls.
But I’m still not quite convinced. “Are you sure? Not everybody will be at that service.”
“I’m sure,” Father McCall says with confidence. “To interrupt such a ceremony would almost guarantee death.”
“So we have some time?” I ask as I sink into the thick leather of my seat.
When was the last time I sat on something that wasn’t as hard as a rock?
Father McCall turns the air conditioner on full blast and fiddles with the vents, pointing them all in my direction. “Yes, we have some time. Why don’t you get some rest?”
Sleep comes easier than it should.
I’ve wanted to be free for so long, I want to see everything around me. To soak in the real world and see what’s changed.
But I can’t see anything, the glare of the sunlight too bright for my sensitive eyes.
I keep telling myself it’s because I’ve lived underground so long. Like a freakish, colorless creature that exists only in the dark.
And eventually my eyes will adjust.
But no matter how hard I squint, the world remains one big blur.
After pressing my nose against the glass of my window and giving myself a massive headache, I decide to give up for now.
Closing my eyes, I lean back in my seat and listen to all the different sounds. Sounds I haven’t heard in years.
The soft hum of the engine. The tires rolling against the pavement. Other cars whizzing past us. Honking horns.
Father McCall’s steady heartbeat.
And somehow I drift off, exhaustion falling over me like a wet, heavy blanket.
But my dreams are strange and make little sense.
The face of the man I saw when I first stood in front of the Prophet flashes in front of my eyes. The too beautiful face that almost made me weep.
He seems concerned by something. His mouth tight and constantly pulled into a frown.
I see his lips move every so often, as if he’s speaking, but he’s not speaking to me. He’s speaking to someone else I can’t see.
At first, I simply watch him out of curiosity, wondering if he’ll fade away. But when he doesn’t, something tells me I should try to get his attention.
That maybe he’ll help me…
I wave my invisible arms and cry out with my silent voice. Trying my best to make myself known to him. Yet nothing seems to work. He’s too distracted and completely unaware of my existence.
A faint, steady throb starts to pulse near my heart, and I redouble my efforts. Sensing, illogically, that there should be a connection between us and he should help me.
I throw my invisible body in front of him. I try to shout into his face.
Pay attention to me!
But it’s all pointless.
No matter what I do, he continues to ignore me.
When I wake up, I’m freezing and covered in sweat from my efforts.
Blinking the weird dream away, I sit up and peer through the windshield, finally able to see.
Dusk has fallen, the sun no longer a blazing ball of misery. All around us are trees.
Trees…
“Ah, Sleeping Beauty finally wakes,” Father McCall says cheerfully. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I answer without looking over at him. My eyes too busy eating up all the green around me.
“Are you sure, lass?” he asks skeptically.
Scowling at his doubt, I actually take the time to feel myself out and discover I’m far from fine.
“I feel like someone rolled me flat then smashed me back together,” I answer more honestly.
“Are you cold?”
I wrap my arms around myself and nod my head at him.
Reaching over to the dashboard, he shuts the air conditioning off. “You were so hot earlier I was afraid to turn it off.”
I nod again and glance back at my window. Wanting to see the trees more than I want to remember that.
“Are you hungry? I stopped and grabbed a couple of burgers. But you slept right through it, and I didn’t want to wake you.”
My stomach aches at the reminder that I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. Yet the moment I actually smell the burger sitting in the greasy bag beside me, bile rises in my throat.
“No,” I nearly gag.
“You sure, lass?” he asks, the skepticism back. “You’ve gone through a lot of trauma and lost a lot of blood. The red meat will do you good.”
Guilt over his concern makes me reach for the bag, but the moment I open it I’m gripped by intense nausea.
Shoving the bag back, I turn my head away and take deep breaths through my mouth.
“I can’t,” I pant and swallow my salvia back.
“That’s okay,” he says reassuringly. “That’s quite all right. We’ll stop and get you something else. Something easier on your stomach.”
He rolls down his window and a blast of cool, fresh air pours in. Grabbing the bag, he tosses it out the window without a second thought. Then he lets the fresh air fill the car for a few minutes before rolling his window back up.