Titolo: Resurrection
Autore: Laury Falter
Genere: Young Adult horror post-apocalittico
Trama: The second and final installment in the two-book series, Apocalypse Chronicles…a dystopian romance about five high school seniors who set out to cure an apocalyptic world of a contagious infection.
Bestselling author Laury Falter finishes off this two-part series–a dystopian romance filled with an electrifying plot, a powerful romance, and unexpected twists.
Trama: The second and final installment in the two-book series, Apocalypse Chronicles…a dystopian romance about five high school seniors who set out to cure an apocalyptic world of a contagious infection.
Bestselling author Laury Falter finishes off this two-part series–a dystopian romance filled with an electrifying plot, a powerful romance, and unexpected twists.
Laury Falter is a bestselling author of young adult romantic suspense and urban fantasy. She has three series out: the Guardian Trilogy, the Residue Series, and the Apocalypse Chronicles.
ESTRATTI
#1
"Stay back," he repeated.
He was bloody, soaked in it. But he wasn't concerned I'd run and embrace him. He wasn't worried about the Infected's blood covering him.
There was something else on his mind.
In a disturbing change of course, he stopped and stood up straight before commanding in a steady tone, "Kennedy, take aim at me."
Take aim at me… His words rolled through my head. I tried to grasp their meaning but I couldn't.
"What?" I said, stepping forward.
"Stop!" he shouted, forceful enough to make me obey.
"The rifle," he said. "Aim the muzzle at me."
"What?"
"You heard me. Do it."
My eyes widened. I swallowed. "No…"
"Do it!"
"NO!"
Suddenly, he came at me, crossing the space between us so quickly I didn't have time to take a breath. His fingers wrapped around the muzzle.
Then it was lifting in my arms, stopping where he placed it…with the opening at his forehead.
Every fiber of my being contracted.
This wasn't right. It opposed everything trained or innately bred within me. One of the three rules in firearms was to never, ever point the muzzle at anything you don't want to destroy. I wouldn't, I couldn't destroy him. Yet here he was, positioning the weapon at his head.
"No, Harrison!" I tried to pull away, astutely conscious that my finger was clear of the trigger guard, but he and all his strength drew it back. "Stop, damn it!"
The fury in his eyes was what ended the struggle. A single glimpse of it told me that he wasn't playing and wouldn't yield. He was lethally serious and he was going to keep that muzzle on him whether it was by my hand or his own.
My instinct was to release the gun, to let him have it. But I hesitated because I wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't pull the trigger on himself. The question that haunted me as we stared each other down along the length of the barrel was…why?
"What are you doing, Harrison?"
His lips pinched closed.
"Why are you doing this?"
A soft, quiet voice behind me answered for him. "He thinks he's infected."
"Tell him that he's not, Mei."
"He won't believe me."
"You're not infected, Harrison."
His nostrils flared but he maintained his stance, never wavering in his stare or removing his fingers from the barrel.
So I began to plead. "Please, Harrison, let go."
He heard me. His eyes twitched as he began to question himself.
"Let go," I whispered, wanting more than ever before to breach the distance rigidly in place between us. "Let go…"
His stare faltered, the intensity of it lessening, but still he didn't move.
"It's been more than sixty seconds," Mei announced quietly, as if she didn't want to disturb our private war.
It didn't happen instantly, but it did happen. His shoulders dropped, his fingers lifted from the barrel, and his stare finally, finally broke from mine.
#2
"You underestimate how I feel about you," he said, his voice low and deep with emotion. "And when you are in danger, regardless of the threat I might face, always and without fail, I will risk myself to ensure you survive."
"Do not jeopardize yourself for me again, Harrison."
He looked up and fixed his eyes on the horizon, this time smiling sardonically at his thought. When he voiced it to me, his arms fell away, he slung his backpack over his shoulder, and he began the climb down the access hatch. "You forget, Kennedy," he said, "I am the jeopardy."
#3
He laughed to himself. "You're always my strongest supporter, Kennedy, and therein lies the problem. That blind loyalty could get you…"
He closed his eyes and seemed to swallow back the words, or one in particular. "Could get you killed."
"What are you saying?"
"Kennedy," he exhaled patiently but with a great deal of effort, "I'm not sure how much venom my body can take, what the effects of it have been on me, or even how it is merging with the antibodies. Every time I'm bitten I put you in danger, everyone who is near me is in danger." He exhaled in frustration. "Why do you think I wait for sixty seconds after I'm bitten to come near you?"
That had never occurred to me, but he was right. I remembered seeing him move away from me after an attack; he'd gone so far as to put a muzzle to his head. I'd even caught him positioning himself within range of Doc, Mei, and Beverly.
"Wait…," I mumbled, an understanding of something forming in the recesses of my mind. "Wait a second…"
Then it hit me. He had been training them to defend against the Infected's strengths…the same traits that he possessed. He had trained them to detect weaknesses, the same weaknesses he possessed.
"Wait…" I said again, bile rising in my throat.
He had done this in front of me, with my help, and I hadn't even realized what he had been doing.
"You…," I whispered. Clearing my throat, I tried again. "You…"
He was watching me now, waiting for me to wedge free the statement that was so rigidly stuck in my throat. "I…?" he said coaxingly. "I what, Kennedy?"
What began the fire of infuriation in the pit of my belly was that he knew. He knew what he'd done and he knew I'd figure it out sooner or later.
This was that moment.
The memories flooded back to me then. The shift in his positions around the group after he'd been bitten, the line of sight he'd maintained with someone, anyone but me on our team to take him out if it was needed.
"You trained them to kill you," I uttered.
"Stay back," he repeated.
He was bloody, soaked in it. But he wasn't concerned I'd run and embrace him. He wasn't worried about the Infected's blood covering him.
There was something else on his mind.
In a disturbing change of course, he stopped and stood up straight before commanding in a steady tone, "Kennedy, take aim at me."
Take aim at me… His words rolled through my head. I tried to grasp their meaning but I couldn't.
"What?" I said, stepping forward.
"Stop!" he shouted, forceful enough to make me obey.
"The rifle," he said. "Aim the muzzle at me."
"What?"
"You heard me. Do it."
My eyes widened. I swallowed. "No…"
"Do it!"
"NO!"
Suddenly, he came at me, crossing the space between us so quickly I didn't have time to take a breath. His fingers wrapped around the muzzle.
Then it was lifting in my arms, stopping where he placed it…with the opening at his forehead.
Every fiber of my being contracted.
This wasn't right. It opposed everything trained or innately bred within me. One of the three rules in firearms was to never, ever point the muzzle at anything you don't want to destroy. I wouldn't, I couldn't destroy him. Yet here he was, positioning the weapon at his head.
"No, Harrison!" I tried to pull away, astutely conscious that my finger was clear of the trigger guard, but he and all his strength drew it back. "Stop, damn it!"
The fury in his eyes was what ended the struggle. A single glimpse of it told me that he wasn't playing and wouldn't yield. He was lethally serious and he was going to keep that muzzle on him whether it was by my hand or his own.
My instinct was to release the gun, to let him have it. But I hesitated because I wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't pull the trigger on himself. The question that haunted me as we stared each other down along the length of the barrel was…why?
"What are you doing, Harrison?"
His lips pinched closed.
"Why are you doing this?"
A soft, quiet voice behind me answered for him. "He thinks he's infected."
"Tell him that he's not, Mei."
"He won't believe me."
"You're not infected, Harrison."
His nostrils flared but he maintained his stance, never wavering in his stare or removing his fingers from the barrel.
So I began to plead. "Please, Harrison, let go."
He heard me. His eyes twitched as he began to question himself.
"Let go," I whispered, wanting more than ever before to breach the distance rigidly in place between us. "Let go…"
His stare faltered, the intensity of it lessening, but still he didn't move.
"It's been more than sixty seconds," Mei announced quietly, as if she didn't want to disturb our private war.
It didn't happen instantly, but it did happen. His shoulders dropped, his fingers lifted from the barrel, and his stare finally, finally broke from mine.
#2
"You underestimate how I feel about you," he said, his voice low and deep with emotion. "And when you are in danger, regardless of the threat I might face, always and without fail, I will risk myself to ensure you survive."
"Do not jeopardize yourself for me again, Harrison."
He looked up and fixed his eyes on the horizon, this time smiling sardonically at his thought. When he voiced it to me, his arms fell away, he slung his backpack over his shoulder, and he began the climb down the access hatch. "You forget, Kennedy," he said, "I am the jeopardy."
#3
He laughed to himself. "You're always my strongest supporter, Kennedy, and therein lies the problem. That blind loyalty could get you…"
He closed his eyes and seemed to swallow back the words, or one in particular. "Could get you killed."
"What are you saying?"
"Kennedy," he exhaled patiently but with a great deal of effort, "I'm not sure how much venom my body can take, what the effects of it have been on me, or even how it is merging with the antibodies. Every time I'm bitten I put you in danger, everyone who is near me is in danger." He exhaled in frustration. "Why do you think I wait for sixty seconds after I'm bitten to come near you?"
That had never occurred to me, but he was right. I remembered seeing him move away from me after an attack; he'd gone so far as to put a muzzle to his head. I'd even caught him positioning himself within range of Doc, Mei, and Beverly.
"Wait…," I mumbled, an understanding of something forming in the recesses of my mind. "Wait a second…"
Then it hit me. He had been training them to defend against the Infected's strengths…the same traits that he possessed. He had trained them to detect weaknesses, the same weaknesses he possessed.
"Wait…" I said again, bile rising in my throat.
He had done this in front of me, with my help, and I hadn't even realized what he had been doing.
"You…," I whispered. Clearing my throat, I tried again. "You…"
He was watching me now, waiting for me to wedge free the statement that was so rigidly stuck in my throat. "I…?" he said coaxingly. "I what, Kennedy?"
What began the fire of infuriation in the pit of my belly was that he knew. He knew what he'd done and he knew I'd figure it out sooner or later.
This was that moment.
The memories flooded back to me then. The shift in his positions around the group after he'd been bitten, the line of sight he'd maintained with someone, anyone but me on our team to take him out if it was needed.
"You trained them to kill you," I uttered.
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