I can only imagine what this means -what they’re thinking down in Nashville. Seventeen messages with no answer: it’s a problem, and not just because there could be critical, time-sensitive information there.
Seventeen messages with no answer could mean they think we’re all dead. It could mean we won’t see another shipment for a good long while, since those things take time to prepare, time to launch.
“You’re welcome.” Dash nodded at the door to the lab. “Are you also in this class?”
“Yes,” Arran said, hoping his face didn’t betray his excitement. He’d been waiting to run into Dash and had felt a pang of disappointment every time he’d walked into a new class without seeing him. But then a dispiriting thought hit him. What if Dash didn’t remember meeting him on the shuttle? Unlike Arran, he probably hadn’t replayed their interaction a hundred times over the past three days. “I’m Arran.”
The sky was lightening when the Wundrous Society’s newest scholars emerged from the woodland path. As they climbed the sloping, frost-covered hill towards Proudfoot House, a line of pale gold on the horizon turned to pink, blossoming in the sky like a gigantic flower and illuminating the red-brick facade.
I woke abruptly, expecting to feel the gravel biting into my shoulder blades once more. Instead, I found myself sitting in the backseat of an unfamiliar car that seemed to be traveling at excessive speed and taking corners a little too fast for even my comfort.
What was going on? First, the whole disappearing thing, and now a different location? I did not like this. Did the first four days of my afterlife experience mean nothing?
Before he could stop me, I took in one last breath and went in. The smell inside was ten times worse than outside. I used all my mental strength not to throw up while I moved past the second seat. Glass crunched underneath my feet, and I was thankful I’d chosen to wear relatively thick-soled Chuck Taylors for our flight. Not really ideal for any of our activities so far, but at least they were comfortable.