The Risen: Remnants Read Online Free PDF Page B

thoughts and I am happy to change the topic.
    “Don’t get too excited. They are over rated.” I leave her confused by my words as I glance up to the one standing over me still. “Let’s go check on Ginjer. Figure out what started all of this.”
    I walk towards her, holding out one arm in a customary style of embrace. It is her turn to cringe now and she takes a step backwards to avoid the half hug.
    “I would totally hug you, but you are gross.”
    I look down at myself, having forgotten for a moment the war scene that I wear. My tennis shoes are caked and streaked with an almost clay-like thickness. My jeans are dotted and splashed with dark crimson spots. My shirt is beyond redemption with the many layers and shades of red in an almost tie-dyed swirl of death. It is stained from their blood but also my own that pulls the cotton material to my stomach. My palm reminds me of the past struggle with the pain that now reawakens. It too is covered in layers of blood and staring at my hands covered in such a degree is shocking.
    There is never this much detail to deaths in movies. Everything dies quickly. The blood only pools in small, clean circles. There is nothing clean or quick about killing. Blood has no obedience to perfect outlines. It will fill any crevice until it runs too thin or it is blocked from its path. Hearts fight against death with every beat they can manage. They refuse to stop until they are forced to let go of the desire to live.
    “Think she will make me remove my shoes before I enter?” I smile thinking of the woman’s distress over the tracks I am sure to make on her perfect floor.
    Genny smiles at me with her thoughts of Ginjer’s reaction to my appearance. “I think she will make you strip before you enter.”
    “Well, perhaps I will just give her a big ol’ hug with how happy I am she is not hurt.” My dare brings real laughter from my daughter. It’s a sound that I still cherish, maybe even more now than I did before. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
    Our trip back to our “home” is nowhere near as eventful as my trip away. Without the sound of the dog barking, the night is still and silent again. The crackling of our feet treading along the worn pathway across a carpet of leaves gives the only hint to any occupancy. With the danger gone now, the insects of the night slowly begin to sing again.
    We come across the last of the monsters, crumpled with a wooden cross pointing skyward from his skull. We don’t comment over it or give it much attention. We simply side-step his body blocking our path with mutual understanding that words are not needed.
    “You want his jacket?” I smile at her, trying to break the mood.
    “You’re so twisted.” She frowns at me but I can see her gears turning, debating it.
    Watching her weigh the pros and cons of stripping a body that she just had to kill brings a reoccurring thought to my mind. This is not how a sixteen-year-old should be living.
    Ginjer’s “home” is silent, and after so much noise filling it only moments ago, it adds to my apprehension of what may have happened to her. I would never risk my life by leaving it in her hands, but she is not one normally to hide, either. No, she is much more rehearsed at the “damsel in distress” calling on every avenue of assistance she may need without a moments thought to anyone else’s feelings. For her to be hiding now, and not waiting for us with disbelief over how long it took us to save her, does not hold well. I hope it is just an excuse for one of her famous “no one appreciates me” fits and not something more serious. Bruised egos I am well trained to heal; bloody, life threatening wounds, not so much.
    “Ginjer,” I call out as quietly as one can and still hope to penetrate the stone walls of the crypts. The cemetery may look empty, but I have come not to trust how things appear. My neighbor had looked harmless too, until he begun eating his wife. “Ginjer, it’s