DEAD IN BED By Bailey Simms: The Complete Second Book

PART 10, SECTION 1

Part 10: Bleeding Out

The first time I saw my own blood under a microscope, I was in high school. We were supposed to be looking at pond scum, but I pricked my finger when my teacher wasn't looking.

Translucent disks, each like a tiny, unrolled scarlet condom, drifted though the microscope's viewing pane. Millions of them. They were my red blood cells. I was a healthy, sanguine kid.

Now, looking at my "blood" through what may have been exactly the same microscope—Chris had stolen it from the high school, after all—I saw something totally different.

Not a single red blood cell remained. Legions of microscopic organisms propelled themselves languidly through a pale fluid—the honey that had replaced my blood.

I'd prepared myself to feel revolted by the parasites in my veins. But I wasn't. These tiny, single-cell creatures appeared only peaceful, bobbing and dancing around one another, surviving in the only way they knew how.

Earlier that morning, at dawn, I'd woken up to a faint but distinctively eerie sound.

I sat up slowly and listened.

A murmer of what sounded like human voices whispered through the dwellings and echoed softly across the cliff's walls.

It wasn't my imagination. Just when I thought I'd lost the sound, the murmering would pick up for a moment, then die back down again to a barely-audible rustle.

It could only have been the hushed voices of all the new refugees. We'd never hosted so many people at the dwellings before. All of the morning conversations taking place in the stone rooms must have been echoing collectively through the ravine.

Still, it was an eerie sound.

Shawn's arm hung across my waist. I moved it gently, careful not to wake him.

Outside, morning light faintly brightened the sky. The last of the stars were fading.

I needed to be alone to think. I needed to try to make sense of what had happened last night with Shawn, and what I was feeling.

I'd gotten into the habit of going to the spring at dawn to gather my daily water, so I grabbed the pair of large plastic bottles I used and started making my way out of the dwellings. Even in winter, the spring was a peaceful, pretty spot, a clear pool flowing endlessly from the sandstone. I hoped no one else would be there this early.

The dwellings' central square was, to my surprise, a total mess. Empty vodka bottles and makeshift mugs lay scattered among plates, each covered with the remnants of my dad's prime rib dinner. Trust freaking Chris to get everybody drunk their first night here.

I made my way along the path in the wintry morning air. As I approached the spring, I didn't hear any voices. Good, I thought. I'd be able to be alone for a moment.

Then I froze.

Protruding from behind a sandstone outcropping, laying upon the smoothly rounded pebbles that were scattered everywhere beside the spring, was a bare human foot.

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