Free Bloodline (The Forgotten Origins Trilogy) by Tara Ellis Page B

doesn’t want to talk right now.
    “Doesn’t want to talk?” I repeat back to him, confused.  “Is she that sick?”
    “No.  She’s getting better.  We’ll all be okay now.”
    When he doesn’t offer any further explanation, I’m at a loss as to what to say.  “Well, can you please tell her I’d like to talk with her as soon as…she wants to?”
    “She knows.  Goodbye.”  The line goes dead and I’m left staring at my cell phone like it’s a snake about to bite me.  I throw it away from me, trying to distance myself from this new, twisted reality.
    Tears blurring my visio n, I stumble off the bed and to the computer.  Not knowing what else to do, I log on to my social account to see if there is any sort of talk from others about people acting weird.  I can message Missy too in case it’s her dad and not her saying that.  Waiting for the site to come up, I impatiently tap on my desk.  When a message pops on the screen stating that the page is temporarily unavailable, my sadness turns to anger.
    In one sweeping gesture, I knock all the papers, notebooks and pens off the surface of the desk and onto the floor.  Not satisfied, I grab at pillows and blankets and throw them across the room.  Turning in a circle, I look for something else to destroy and catch my image in the mirror over the dresser.
    My thick black hair is in disarray, my face streaked with tears.  What stops me though is the cold, hard panic in my eyes.  They’re black with fear and unrecognizable to me.  “ Alexandria, the vulture…”
    Staggering backwards, I spin around, looking for the source of the whispered words.  Clasping both hands over my ears, I fall to my knees on the pile of pillows.   “What do you want me to do?” I cry out, my voice a hoarse imitation of itself.
    I have no idea how long I’m in this position, weeping quietly.  When I finally open my eyes, I’m wrapped up in the same fluffy comforter Mom had given me at the meteor shower.  This brings on a fresh course of emotions and I am about to close my eyes again when I notice a book that is practically under my face.  Pushing up onto my elbows, I look at it.
    Sure enough, it’s Dads book.  I have no idea how it could have gotten here.  Thinking back, I’m almost positive I put it back in its hiding place this morning and I don’t think my temper tantrum took me into the closet.  Looking at it more closely, I see that it’s open to the page where my dad carefully drew out the vulture in pencil.  The vulture. 
    Accepting the fact that this is the new normal, I sit cross legged and try to figure out what it is Dads trying to tell me.  I’m not alone.  He’s with me; I know it with all my heart.  Chris is there too…and willing to help.  What is absolutely clear is that I’m not doing anyone any good lying here crying on my bedroom floor.
    Wiping my face on the blanket, I push down all those raw emotions.  I’m sixteen, practically an adult.  My little brother is counting on me to take care of him and it seems that Dad had enough faith in me to trust me with whatever this is all about. 
    I reach out and pick up one of the pads of paper and pens that are now littering my bedroom floor.  Across the top I draw out some lines making three columns.   At the top of each column I write: Holocene meteor shower, weird stuff and vulture.
    I start with the meteor shower.  Under the heading I start making notes:  every five thousand years, Dad very interested, Dad knew something was going to happen afterwards, mentioned to Mom when dying, happened same night as flu starts, much more intense than scientists said it would be, was strongest in our region, meteors crashed near town.
    Then under the weird stuff: Flu, Mom not acting like herself…more than being sick? Missy won’t talk to me, spreading like wildfire through Country, highest contagion rate in history? Dad’s book, dream, whispers, Baxter acting strange, something is