Free Riser (Teen Horror/Science Fiction) (Book #1 in The Riser Saga) ((Volume 1)) by Becca C. Smith Page B

head was going to explode from the assault on my senses. There were about two hundred camera crews all crowding around the most news worthy sight there.
The lone survivor. Me. Fantastic.
That’s when the voices started to separate from each other in an annoying attack.
“Were you here when the tornado hit?”
“Is this your trailer?”
“Do you know the woman you’re standing over?”
“Are you the only survivor?”
Too much. Too much. I instinctively scooted in closer to Mom as if she could still protect me from all this. But I was truly alone.
“She’s my mom,” I said and found that when I spoke every single person in the area quieted down to hear my response. “What tornado?” Mom didn’t show me any tornado. It was some kind of green smoke. Tornados don’t give off smoke.
“Clear the way. Clear the way.” Two paramedics swooped in and before I could respond they had hovered Mom away in a gurney.
“WAIT! That’s my mom!” I cried out. I stood up and tried to take on the crowd full force to get my mother back.
“We’ll take good care of her,” one of the paramedics called over his shoulder and they were out of my view.
The pack of reporters closed their ranks, making it impossible for me to cut through.
“How sudden was the tornado?”
“Did you hide somewhere?”
I wanted them to all go home and leave me alone. “There wasn’t a tornado. Something else killed them. Some kind of green smoke.”
And there was a roar of chatter almost like a rhythm.
“What kind of green smoke?”
“Are you suggesting that smoke caused this kind of damage to these trailers?”
Their voices became a single chatter yet again and I couldn’t tell one reporter from the next.
“I don’t know… I… my mom…” My head was starting to spin. Go away! Can I see my mom? Leave me alone! All the things that I wanted to say, but found that my tongue was locked in place from being overwhelmed.
“Were you close?”
Did he really just ask me that?
“THAT WILL BE ENOUGH!” a voice came roaring from behind the press.
All eyes, including the firemen, policemen and paramedics turned to the largest man I had ever seen. I recognized him right away, the Mayor of Los Angeles, Norman Bradfield. Everything about Mayor Bradfield was round: tummy, face (including the three chins he was sporting) arms, legs, fingers, toes, everything! He had a kind and warm face on the holo-tv. He always reminded me of Mel and that made him great in my book, but in person he had a slyness to his gait. He was a shark, I could tell right away.
Everyone moved aside as he walked toward me. All the reporters made room for his eminence. It was like they all sensed a photo opportunity within their grasp and they drooled in anticipation.
“Leave this poor girl alone,” his voice boomed. At least, this, I agreed with. “She just lost her mother!”
Okay. True, but the way he said it made my skin crawl. He had absolutely no real emotion behind his words. He said them for affect only, no true sympathy or care about me and how I might feel. I had seen Jill pull the same kind of manipulative tactics all the time on teachers and other students; a fakeness I had developed a kind of radar for over the last few years. And this guy made Jill look like an amateur.
To prove my point, the Mayor actually leaned in close to me and gave the cameras the cheesiest, most over-the-top look of concern he could possibly manipulate his tubby face to make. I wanted to vomit again, this time on his perfectly shined shoes.
“Now, now. From the looks of it, this girl was the only one who survived this terrible tragedy.” Mayor Bradfield’s voice was so loud it carried all the way to the furthest reporter.
“She says it was green smoke.”
“She said there was no tornado.”
I watched the Mayor’s face very carefully to see what his reaction would be, and I wasn’t disappointed. There was a brief second of what could only be described as panic. I knew something was going on