Revelations Read Online Free PDF

and heavy in Emily’s lungs. But when she looked to the south she sucked in a painfully deep gulp of the freezing air; the skirt of cloud hemming the horizon was so much darker now, like thick pools of congealing blood. The intertwining seams of purple stitched through the storm’s body twisted and tumbled to form cauldrons of spirals that coiled and melted their way into each other like the beads and colored glass of a child’s kaleidoscope.
    What little light that made it through the clouds covered the island in a pall of perpetual twilight. It created a dull dissimilarity with the pristine white of the snow. Emily’s eyes tried but failed to compensate for the painful contrast, and she quickly felt a dull throbbing headache form in her forehead as she squinted from beneath the shade of her outstretched hand.
    She hoped it was just her imagination, but the cloud to the west seemed closer. It was hard to tell from ground level as the buildings obscured her view.
    She stepped down off the ice-covered steps and crunched through the knee-deep snow, walking awkwardly around the side of the building while using the exterior wall to steady her balance as she high-stepped through the snow to the opposite end.
    Fifty feet beyond the cabin a hillock rose sharply up to a blunt plateau high enough to give a clear view over the roofs of the camp’s buildings. Emily’s breathing came in short, rapid pants as she climbed to its top, the air collecting like rubble in the bottom of her lungs. At the hill’s summit she had an unobstructed 360-degree view of the island.
    It stilled her heart, petrifying it in her chest.
    The ring of clouds circling the horizon on every side had crept closer, constricting the hole of hazy sky above the survivors’ sanctuary.
    Emily’s gaze skittered across the curve of the island, and out to sea where a shining mist descended from the cloud base and melted into the sluggish sea: rain! Sheets of it were pummeling the waves out there. She could see a slick of red forming on the ocean’s surface, slowly spreading with the swell. It was the same in every direction she looked, a slowly tightening noose around their necks.
    A gust of wind thumped against her, pushing her back a step. A second gust buffeted her sideways. She tottered for a second, almost losing her balance as her legs tangled at the knees. She had a sudden disquieting notion that the storm knew she was observing it, and it was letting her know it saw her, watching her right back, this insignificant bug crawling on the surface of the world it had conquered.
    From the west, another strong gust rocked her then rose to a constant blast that threatened to push her off the summit. Steadying herself, she sidestepped down the hill toward the camp just as the snow began to fall again, but this time the crystal-pure white of each perfect flake was stained with red.

The survivors gathered in the large room, sitting on the floor in small groups, talking quietly amongst themselves. Occasionally, one of them would stand and walk to a window and look outside.
    Emily had observed that whoever was doing the looking inevitably fell into one of two groups: The first would quickly glance through the frosty window, not taking more than a second to assess the situation and wander back to their seat, as dark of mood as when they’d first stood. The second group would linger for well over five minutes or more, staring out that window as if they were willing the bloodstained clouds poised just a few miles off every corner of the coast of their island sanctuary to dissipate.
    Both groups left the window disappointed every time.
    There was a third group too. The one Emily fell into: those who watched the watchers. That had always been her way, that deep drive to observe and understand had had a large part to play in her becoming a journalist. But she wondered now, as she sat, her butt on the floor, her back against the wall, whether she should attribute that calling