Eye of the Storm by Emmie Mears Read Free Book Online Page A

a shawl. The early morning is hushed with that three AM blanket of sleep. The darkness and mist make it seem as though we've slid through the cracks of our world into a ghost world, an un-world, somewhere life is unwelcome.
    I check my phone. Still nothing from Carrick or Alamea. Nothing from anyone. My battery is at eight percent. I know Mira's is already dead. Good thing we don't need directions to go straight. Or, as Mira would say, "gaily forward."
    Asher sees me looking. "Maybe today we'll find a car that still has enough battery to try the radio. Or a semi with a CB."
    "I doubt it." It's possible, but unlikely. The last cars we found with auxiliary power just gave us static. No more emergency broadcast, even. Evis swore he heard voices through the crackle as we searched through stations, but nothing ever came through clear.  
    "You said the Summit had an evacuation plan," Asher ventures.  
    "Alamea had them working on one, anyway. Even if they had one, a plan's only as good as the people paying attention to it."  
    "I just can't believe the Summit never thought it could come to this." The disdain in Asher's voice this time is unmissable.  
    I look at her. The beach towel around her shoulders is hot pink and lime green. There's a dark stain on one corner I try not to look too closely at. Asher's hair has tiny beads of moisture gathering on the dark strands, and for a moment, her face holds something I can only describe as rancor.  
    "You don't like the Summit."
    "It's hard to like something when they stole your best friend's child away and keep as many secrets as the Summit does."
    "You don't believe they do it for the greater good?" I can't keep the irony out of my own voice, or stop the twitch of my lip. I can't even play devil's advocate about the Summit with a straight face.
    "I think they have their own agenda now and always have."
    Asher doesn't say anything more than that, and I get the feeling she regrets bringing it up.  
    It gets very quiet, then.
    You take the noise for granted. Not the big noises, like sirens and radio, but the small ones. The undercurrent noises. The sound of tires on asphalt and the whirr of appliances. The almost unhearable hums of electricity sparking through cables and walls. The occasional plane in the sky. Those sounds are the default silence of the modern world until they're gone and you're shown what silence really is. Even the street lights along I-65 are out now. No buzz of light through this mist. Only the quiet of a seemingly-dead world.  
    And through it, I hear something.  
    My head turns toward it, my ear straining to catch whatever it is. Asher sees the change in my body as I tense, and she gives me a waiting look, a prepared look, ready to sound an alarm.  
    It's not the snarls of demons I think I hear. At least I don't think so.  
    I suck in a breath, filling my lungs to about two-thirds capacity. I hold the air there until the only thing I hear is the thu-thud of my heartbeat and the sound of Asher breathing. Asher pauses, then holds her breath as well, watching me.
    There.  
    I hear it. A small cry, like a sob. It seems to be coming from just south of us, though how far I don't know.  
    I debate whether to wake the others.  
    "We should go check that out," I murmur, letting out my breath. Asher mirrors me, darting a glance at the truck where the others lie sleeping.  
    "I can stay here," says Asher. "I can send up sparks if something happens. Even in this sludge, you'd see the glow."
    It takes about half a second for me to make up my mind. I nod at her. "Stick close to the truck. If there's trouble on my end, I'll holler."
    I don't need magic sparks. I can bellow with the best of them.
    I make my way south, hands on the hilts of my swords. Every hundred yards, I pause, listening for the sound again. The first few stops, I hear nothing. Then it comes again, a tiny bit louder, a whimper. Fear. I hear that louder than the sound itself.  
    There's no way to see