Fathom by L. Standage (spanish books to read .TXT) 📕

to let me by, then followed as I walked, my resolve firm, but my steps unsteady. I wanted to run, but I could sense the barrel of a firearm pointed at my back.

I rounded the corner. My hands fisted tight, I looked behind me to see the Brit standing on the corner, watching me. I turned back. One foot in front of the other. Keep going. Soon, I crossed my aunt’s yard, then walked up the porch steps. The front door hung at a lopsided angle in the broken frame. I walked inside.

“Samantha, it’s me!” I called. Samantha appeared from down the hall and hugged me. I couldn’t understand what she said over her loud weeping.

“I’m okay, I’m okay. Everything’s fine.” I started crying, too. Again.

“What happened?” She looked at me through bloodshot eyes.

“Did you call anyone?” I asked. “My aunt? My mom?”

“No! I was too scared. I didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“What’s happening? Are you going to jail? What was that guy talking about, asking if I knew who you really were?”

“Nothing. It was all a big mistake. I’ll explain everything. There’s just something I need to do first.” I pulled away from her and went to my room. Inside the nightstand drawer, I found the white clam and picked it up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Sam cried.

“This is all they want and then they’ll leave us alone.”

“A stupid old seashell? What for?”

“I don’t know. I need to go give it to them. Just stay here.” I made for the door.

“No, I’m coming with you.”

I hesitated.

“Please, Olivia.”

“Okay. But if I tell you to run, run.”

She nodded and we stepped outside together. I shivered. Two of the men stood on the corner at the end of the street, just outside the glow of the streetlight.

“Who are they?” Samantha whispered.

“I don’t know. They took me to a hotel where this other man was. All they wanted was the seashell, except they called it a vessel. They told me the red-headed lady is dead.”

“Then it was her.” She swore under her breath. “They’re going to let us go once we give them the seashell, right?”

“That’s what they said.”

I only hoped I was right. We came closer to them. The Brit smoked a cigarette. The guy with no pinky stood next to him, his right hand in the pocket of his jacket. I held the clam up so they could see it.

I crouched to put the clam on the ground. A car sped from the other end of the street and screeched around the distant corner. I stopped, still holding on to the shell.

“No! Olivia, no!” someone shouted from the car. I turned to see who was in the van but couldn’t make them out. Before I could react, Pinky darted forward. I stumbled back. The shell slipped out of my hand and fell onto the blacktop.

“Run! Get out of here!” the voice from the car shouted again. Reflexes kicked in and I obeyed, grabbing Samantha with one hand and running back toward the house. I didn’t pause to wonder who shouted. Or how they knew my name. The car engine revved closer just as the deadly, feral sound of gunfire went off behind us. I covered my head with both hands and ducked as I ran, Sam a step ahead of me. The shots continued. I felt naked. Panicked. The house was only a few more yards away. We were almost to safety.

Suddenly, my shoulder burst into unbearable, icy flame. My entire arm went numb, my back arched, and my head swam. Something gnawed at the flesh on my shoulder. I limped a few more steps, stumbled, and fell as Samantha’s screams echoed above me.

“How long has she been here?”

“She’s bleeding! She’s bleeding!”

“How long?”

“Uh… uh. I d-don’t know!”

“Her blood, Eamon. Why is it—”

“Different type, or maybe she’s turning. I don’t know. Help me with this. How long was she planning on staying?”

“Olivia, please don’t die!”

“…get her in water…”

“…too risky…”

Unfamiliar voices swirled around me like clouds of smoke I couldn’t grasp. I tried to speak, but my mouth felt locked, like it was full of tasteless peanut butter.

“Mmffmm.” Why can’t I talk?

“Olivia? Answer me.” I had never heard Samantha sound like that before. “You’re suffocating her!”

“Take her out of here, Cal. I need to concentrate!”

Once more, I tried speaking, but pain...pain. I groaned. Something pricked the crook of my elbow. Darkness dragged me back under.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw sunlight coming from my bedroom window. Blankets covered me and a pleasant smell floated in the air—something homey and sweet. On the bedside table sat a plant like a cross between a sea anemone and a chrysanthemum. I looked down at my legs under the blanket and rotated my ankles. I shifted to stretch but gasped as my shoulder throbbed. My right arm was strapped in a sling.

“Olivia?” asked Samantha, a tremor in her voice. From a chair where she sat next to the bed, she reached out and grasped my free hand.

“Sam. What…? Ugh.” I cringed as I tried to move again, tried to recall what I was doing here.

Then I remembered: three men broke into my aunt’s house. Handcuffs. The hotel. The man in the tailored suit, the seashell, the gunfire. The pictures flashed in my head like a bright, horrifying filmstrip.

I gave a low cry and attempted to sit up.

“Don’t get up. Your shoulder is still healing.” She eased me down to keep me from moving, then looked toward the door of the bedroom. “Can you hang on a second? I told them I’d let them know when you were awake. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Who—?”

She left. I reached my left hand up to my clammy forehead. How long had I been out? And I'd been shot! Why wasn’t I dead? I sighed at the miracle of lying safe in bed, feeling my own breath and heartbeat.

The door opened. Samantha ushered someone in. A man, probably in