The Dead Travel Fast

Chapter 2

2

I almost shouted with relief. I was in my room at home. There was no Celeste, no prison, and no strange prophecies about my family’s death. Everything about my pathetic little life suddenly seemed warm and welcoming.

My relief did not last long. There was my mom, standing above me and shouting at me. She was a tall, imposing woman, with big arm muscles and dark hair cut in a pixie style. She always made me feel like a disappointment, even when she wasn’t trying to; I knew I could never be big, strong, and athletic like her. She was already dressed in her leggings and fleece, which meant she was about to go on her morning run by the Charles River. It looked like she was trying to tell me something, but I lay there for a minute, wondering how she managed to convince herself to go out and run every single morning. The world could be ending, and she would still be going on her morning run.

I finally tuned into what she was saying.

“You’re going to be late! You only have a few minutes, hurry!”

Oh, shoot. School. I glanced at the clock and realized that she was right. I was definitely going to be late if I stayed in a bed for even a couple more minutes. I hopped out of bed with a groan and pushed my mom into the hallway before I put on my clothes. I didn’t bother to brush my hair, which was longer and darker than my mom’s. I pulled my winter clothes over my limbs—skinny and weak, unlike hers—and grabbed my school bag.

Looking out the window, I could see that it was still dark outside. That didn’t surprise me. After all, today was the twenty-second of December, and last night had been the longest night of the year. It was early enough in the morning that the sun was only just starting to appear over the horizon.

I emerged from my room, only to find my mom still standing in the hall, waiting for me.

“Here,” she said, shoving a bag into my hands. “It’s your last day, so I packed you a special lunch.”

Her tone was so stern that it took me a moment to register that she had said something nice. I twisted the top of the bag in my hands.

“Oh, uh, thanks. Did you put onigiri in it?”

There was nothing wrong with onigiri—in fact, I really liked it, and over the years it had become a staple dish in our household—but I had figured out long ago that the other girls at school didn’t like the look of it. They thought it was weird.

She scowled. “No, of course not. How could I forget?”

“Good. Thank you.” I started down the spotless, shiny hallway, so unlike that dark hallway from my dream, toward the big staircase that would take me to the ground floor. But before I could get there, there was my mom again, blocking my path. There was concern on her face and in her composure.

“Are you all right, Abbie?” she asked me.

I tried to laugh. “Yeah. Why?”

“You were sleeping deeply this morning, and I was wondering why you were so tired. Did you stay up late on your phone again last night?”

“No, Mom. My phone is charging downstairs on the kitchen table, exactly where I left it last night.”

“Okay, okay. And you weren’t out with your friends? Or with a boy?” Her eyes gleamed with suspicion.

“No, Mom! Geez. I went to bed last night and I stayed there.” It was true. While some of my friends had occasionally discussed doing such things, I had never been tempted to join in. I didn’t want them to think I was boring, but I had already decided that I would rather be left out of their fun than face the wrath of my parents if they ever found out. So now, even though I had already turned fourteen years old, when my mom questioned me, I never had to lie.

“Hmm. Maybe you’re coming down with something. Do you feel sick?”

“Do I get to skip school if I’m sick?”

“Not unless you have a fever.”

“Well, no, I don’t feel sick, then.”

“You only have one day left!” My mom glanced at the hallway clock and squeaked. “And you’re going to be late! Go!”

I hurried down the big, winding staircase, the morning sunlight streaming in through the windows and giving the wooden railing a faint glow. As I reached the ground floor and ran through the kitchen toward the door, I saw my sister, Tori, calmly eating her breakfast. She was eleven years old and in fifth grade, so her school started about half an hour after mine.

“I thought you’d left already,” she said. “You’re gonna be late.”

“Yeah, I know that,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. I grabbed a slice of toast from the toaster and sailed out of the kitchen.

“Hey!” she cried. “That was mine!”

“I gotta go!” I called without looking back. “Just make another one!”

Her huff of annoyance was lost as I ran down the front steps of my house and let the door slam behind me. Leaving the comfort of my tidy front yard, with its big oak trees and stone pathway, I headed out to the sidewalk. Luckily, my school was not far away, and if I walked fast enough I might just get there on time.

I lived in Brookline, right on the fringe of some of Boston’s nicest neighborhoods. As I jogged in the direction of my school, careful not to slip on the patches of wet ice characteristic of late December, I passed grand old Victorians like the one I lived in, tall row houses, and cute cafes. I glanced up at the sky. Even in the dim half-light of morning, I could already tell that it would be a bright, clear winter day.

I was already convinced that my day would be reasonably “normal.” Maybe I was a bit later than usual for my last day of school before the holidays, but nothing really strange was going on. I had not yet witnessed anything out of the ordinary. I might even have felt happy that morning. Christmas vacation was supposed to start the next day, and I was excited—eager, even—to leave my middle school’s dreary hallways and not return for a little while. I had already started to forget the odd dream I’d had the night before.

But everything changed when I slammed into someone on the sidewalk.

Losing my balance, I fell to the ground hard. The impact upon hitting the ground sent a numb shudder through my arms, back, and legs, but even worse was the feeling of cold, wet ice and snow seeping through my clothes. Despite the uncomfortable wetness, I sat there for a moment, trying to grasp what had just happened. I had run full-speed into a person, and now I was sitting on the pavement, which was dirty and snowy and strewn with road salt. Yuck.

I looked up to see the person that I had just collided with. Oddly enough, she was standing firmly on her feet, showing no sign of having slipped. She must have been running, because she was dressed like my mom, in leggings, running shoes, and a fleece jacket, her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She was tall and thin, with one of the most unremarkable faces that I had ever seen. It was a face that I would forget the moment I looked away. Gazing down at me, her eyes cast in shadow, she wordlessly offered me her hand.

Don’t take her hand.

I started. I had just heard a voice! Looking around wildly, I saw that no one on the street was close enough to talk to me except for the runner herself, but I had been looking at her and I knew she hadn’t spoken. Besides, it was not a faraway voice, a voice that would travel to my ears by vibrations in the air, but a voice that I could hear right in my head.

It was Celeste’s voice. I remembered it clearly from my dream.

I started to lift my hand.

Don’t do it! Don’t take it!

I was definitely going crazy. I couldn’t actually be hearing a voice in my head, could I? I reached up, grabbed the woman’s hand, and let her pull me to my feet.

The touch of her bare hand was horrible—icy cold, with a grip like steel. Of course, any human hand out in the December air for a good length of time would be cold, but this was extreme. Her hand was as cold as the icy pavement, like a lifeless, inanimate object that had been outside for hours and had absorbed the cold. It didn’t feel like a real hand.

I found myself standing straight up, looking the woman in the face. I could see her face a little better now. She had a long white nose and thin, expressionless lips. Her eyes-

Don’t look at her eyes!

No. This couldn’t be happening. I was not hearing voices in my head. I wasn’t crazy, was I? I looked at the woman directly in the eyes.

I was taken back. The woman’s eyes were large and hollow, with irises that shone like gold in the sunlight and pupils that were weirdly pale. Unusual colors aside, they were sort of glassy, like the dead eyes of the corpses that I had seen in movies and TV. The moment I made eye contact with her, my stomach turned and my head started to ache. I looked away.

“I guess you’re all right,” said the woman. Her voice was smooth and cool and emotionless. It was low, like a man’s voice.

I was a little taken aback. She was right, of course, but it was still an odd thing to say.

“Um, yeah,” was all I could manage.

“Good. So am I,” she said. “It’s a funny thing that we should cross paths today, Abbie Matsuda-Walsh. Though perhaps it isn’t such a strange coincidence. I’m here for a reason, after all.”

“What?”

“You’ll understand soon enough.” She smiled at me, but her face was so emotionless, her eyes so dull, that it was horribly creepy. “I’m not sure you’ll like it, but soon enough you’ll find out that it’s all for the best.”

With that, she turned around and walked away down the sidewalk.

I stared at the back of her head, feeling a heavy, deep horror growing in the pit of my stomach.

He will be in the form of a woman. She will be exactly five feet and ten inches, with dark hair and cold hands. You will look into those eyes—golden eyes—and remember me.

That was what Celeste had said in my dream. And she had been right. Today, I had run into a tall woman with dark hair, cold hands, and even golden eyes. It had all come true.

See? I told you, said Celeste’s voice in my head.

Utterly freaked out, I ran after the woman, hoping to catch another glimpse of her, but she had just turned around a corner. And when I rounded the corner, the only person I could see was a man wearing a long, flapping trench coat and a hat. His back was to me.

I desperately wanted to believe that nothing was wrong. I wanted to think that I was not hearing an unfamiliar voice in my head, and that I had not had a dream come to life. But now I was not so sure.