daynight by Megan Thomason Read Free Book Online

gave me a heart attack!” I say.  
    “Not at all. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t get a signal on my cell phone to call my parents for a ride and wasn’t paying attention to where I was standing,” she says. Then pay attention. You’re no good to me dead.
    “Well, I didn’t see you until the last second. You were right in the middle of the...”  
    I stop mid-lecture, as I see a series of bright flashes and then watch the Goodington house explode into flames—there one second and completely gone the next. The force of the blasts knocks Kira into me, and then both of us to the ground. My first thought, wrongfully so, is “Bye-bye Bailey. Karma found you after all.” But then I realize that it’s not as satisfying as I thought it’d be and that I’m a victim to Karma’s whims myself. Painful hunks of crap have penetrated my skin, some of them burning. I know all about burns, my mind reverting to the weeks of treatment I required after my journey to fetch Doc Daryn. It takes a couple days for the burns to ‘set,’ the skin still cooking like a Thanksgiving turkey removed from the oven. The ointments, the searing pain, the oozing of the wounds. Is this what my sister will have to experience if she makes it out?  
    I want to go in and save my little sister from the fiery inferno, but my survival instinct tells me that’s not an option, as the winds push the fire directly towards us. I can tell Kira’s in shock, so I load her thin body into the truck and snap the gears into reverse while dialing 911. Once back on the main road I hit the accelerator, retracing the path from whence I came, begging for help from the 911 operator. I pull into a parking lot and suck in a deep mouthful of air.
    As I look at Kira and the overwhelming grief I see on her face, a single thought races through my mind: ‘What has the SCI done?’

I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.
    Vincent Van Gogh

    CHAPTER FOUR
    Kira

    An unfamiliar female voice urges me to waken and be ready in 30 minutes, and I startle, searching for the source to no avail. There must be some sort of built-in speaker system. Barely conscious, I look around my room, something I wasn’t able to properly do in my drugged state last night. It’s larger than the average dorm room and has a twin bed, desk, dresser, closet, and private bathroom. I undress, locate what I assume to be my Recruit uniform and get in the shower. The hot water helps pull me out of my sleepy haze and I reflexively reach for my travel shower pack before realizing that I didn’t bring it, or anything else for that matter. Thankfully a corner shelf in the shower has shampoo, conditioner, body wash and a razor. I note that each product has an ‘Industrial City’ label, and the shampoo, conditioner and body wash have an unfamiliar ‘Theranberry’ scent, which reminds me of a lemon-strawberry-passion fruit combination, a suitable replacement for my Hawaiian products.
    After drying off and dressing in the white, short-sleeved, tight-fitting, silky top, and shimmery yet soft silver-toned pants provided, I stare at myself in the mirror to see that the dark circles under my eyes have Saturn-like rings. “Awful. There had better be makeup!” I say to myself. I survey the drawers and find lotions, makeup, and everything I might need, all with the telltale Industrial City markings I found in the shower. Everything sparkles as I apply it, making me feel like I’m preparing for a night at a disco, not an evening in the training center. I don’t bother to dry or straighten the curls from my hair, and instead pull it back into a ponytail, not wanting to be late.
    A knock at my door makes me think I’m tardy, but I check the clock and have fifteen minutes to spare. If I could just find my shoes, that is. The clothing I’d arrived in, including my shoes, has disappeared. This in itself would be fine if it didn’t imply someone had entered my room to remove the