Among Monsters: A Red Hill Novella
Read Among Monsters: A Red Hill Novella Online
Authors: Jamie McGuire
Tags: #Fantasy / Science Fiction
Copyright © 2014 by Jamie McGuire
All rights reserved.
Cover Designer: Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations,
www.okaycreations.com
Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing,
www.unforeseenediting.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except
for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Visit my website at
www.jamiemcguire.com
For Danielle Lagasse
Thank you for taking such joy in loving
Red Hill.
Thank you for being its champion.
Thank you for being mine.
REGRET WASN’T SOMETHING A THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD THOUGHT ABOUT MUCH.
Lashing out or making a bad choice would typically be forgiven the moment the mistake was recognized, and then it would be forgotten. With volleyball, cheer squad, student council, piano lessons, and the occasional spare moment for a social life, there wasn’t much time for anything else, definitely not something as stupid as regret. But when all of that fell away, that was all I would be thinking about.
When I got out of Mom’s Suburban that morning, my thoughts swirled around what snotty comment Ally or Lizzie would say to me that day or if I would get all the way through lunch without a single crap remark. Math homework was due. Dad would be picking me up this afternoon.
Dad.
Ugh.
Mom had mentioned being nice to his new girlfriend, but I wasn’t even sure who that might be. Ever since the divorce, Dad’s house had been a revolving door of single moms or women who were barely older than me.
At first, Dad had tried to control how much and how seriously Mom dated by example. His first girlfriend had her own kids, and she hadn’t come over much on the weekends when my little sister, Halle, and I were there. But after Dad had realized Mom wasn’t interested in dating—and he couldn’t hold his rules over her head—he’d quit caring. Girlfriend number two had broken us in, and he had felt okay with the idea of her being around us. By number three, he’d been just fine with her spending the night. He’d introduced us to Four thirty-six hours after their first date. Five had a toddler son, and Dad had moved my things out of my bedroom to make space for blue-and-red curtains, fire truck wall hangings, and a toy box full of dump trucks and miniature cars. Six had barely been old enough to drink and didn’t have kids, and even though my bedroom had become empty again, I was still stuck sharing a room with my seven-year-old sister.
Now, we were on Seven, so it was possible that my room was back to being occupied.
I slipped inside the glass double doors of Bishop Middle School without glancing back to see if Mom had pulled away. She always waited until I was at the doors. She probably didn’t even realize that she did it anymore.
The sky opened up, and large drops began to spatter against the windows. The tapping seemed to echo throughout the building as I walked up the stairs to the main floor. I turned left, heading toward my locker, and passed Mrs. Gizzo on the way.
She smiled brightly at me. “Just made it! Looking wet out there already,” she said.
I nodded.
“See you later.” She winked before passing me by.
Mrs. Gizzo taught my third-hour seventh grade English class. She didn’t mind when I’d write stories in class as long as my work was finished. Writing was pretty much the only outlet I had. Talking to Mom about being angry or frustrated with her wasn’t exactly happening. Talking to her about Dad would only cause a fight. Mrs. Gizzo had somehow gotten that about me, and she wouldn’t give me a hard time about getting the anger out of my system on paper like some of the other teachers had.
I stopped in front of my locker and turned the combination lock to four, forty-four, twelve. I pulled the handle with a jerk and opened the thin metal door before pulling out my pre-algebra book and then stuffing my backpack inside. I had spent too much time on my laptop the night before, so my math homework would have to be finished during homeroom.
My cell phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I turned my body to hide the bulky teal-and-purple case as I checked the message. It was from Dad, reminding me that he would be picking me up.
I’m not an idiot.
I typed back that I was aware, and then I shoved my phone back into my pocket.
“Hey, Jenna!” Chloe said with a big grin.
I jumped. “Hey.”
Her smile faded. “Is it your dad’s weekend?”
“Yeah,” I said, pulling my thick binder from my locker.
“That sucks. Well, maybe he’ll feel bad about last time and take you someplace fun.”
“Doubtful. Seven will likely be around.”
Chloe’s face screwed into disgust. “They have numbers now?”
“Might as well.” I exhaled, walking with her to homeroom.
When Chloe and I sat in our seats, I immediately pulled out the crinkled notebook paper bookmarking the page of problems I had to finish. Just ten minutes and four problems later, I folded my work in half and stuck it in my textbook.
Mr. Hilterbran was tapping on his cell phone while resting his chin on the heel of his other hand. I frowned, and motioned to Chloe. It was unlike him—or any teacher—to have a phone in view of the students. Seeing Mr. Hilterbran breaking the rules by ignoring us for whatever was on his phone was strangely unsettling.
Chloe leaned over. “He’s been like that since he sat down.”
Five minutes before the bell rang, Mr. Hilterbran seemed to snap out of his trance, and he blinked. “Have you heard about this epidemic in Europe?” he asked. “It’s all over the news.”
The twenty or so of us looked at each other and then stared blankly at our teacher. He simply looked back down at his phone and then shook his head in disbelief.
“What kind of epidemic?” I asked.
Mr. Hilterbran began to speak, but the bell rang. I gathered my things and waited while Chloe made a quick stop at her locker before going on to pre-algebra.
Chloe and I had all but one class together. Last hour, she had choir, and I had volleyball.
As we climbed the stairs to the second floor, Chloe grimaced. “Have you ever noticed all the smells in the stairway?”
Chloe’s bright red highlights peeked out from her chestnut hair. We used to look more alike, but her mom was a hairstylist, and since we’d started middle school, Chloe’s hair had become much more interesting than mine.
I waited for her always-thoughtful opinion. Her mind worked in the most puzzling and wonderful way, which was one of the many things I found so endearing about her. She was quiet unless she had something philosophical to say.
“Like perfume, BO, cologne, and mildew. The higher we climb, the worse it gets.”
“It’s the humidity,” I said.
She shook her head. “Maybe it’s the stairway telling us what to expect—like, every year, we’ll all be more defined as individuals. The stereotypes will just get stronger each year until we graduate.”
“Or maybe it’s just the humidity,” I said, smiling.
Just when we entered Mrs. Siders’s room, she held up her hand, signaling us to be quiet while she worked on hooking up the Smart Board cables to her laptop.
As more students came in, the murmur and chatter grew louder.
Mrs. Siders swept back a curly piece of long hair that had escaped her loose low bun. “Please! Quiet!” she said as we found our seats.
After a live feed of the national news began to play, Mrs. Siders took a few steps back and hugged her middle with both arms. I watched her, knowing that the teachers would never intentionally let on that they were afraid, so she probably didn’t realize she was even doing it. That made me worry even more.
Mrs. Siders shook her head as the bell rang.
I trained my eyes on the anchorman detailing the chaos displayed in the small square beside his head. Yellow words trailed across the bottom of the screen, listing countries.
“What’s going on with those countries?” Tryston said. He had just walked in, late as usual.
“They’re the countries that the UN has lost contact with,” Mrs. Siders said.
I frowned. “What do you mean? How is it possible to lose contact with an
entire
country?” I asked.
Mrs. Siders didn’t turn around. “The Prime Minister of France just declared a state of emergency. In the last half an hour, the UK has reported cases of the virus, and they said it’s spreading uncontrollably.”
“Should we be watching this?” Tryston swallowed, his barely burgeoning Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Would you like for me to turn it off?” Mrs. Siders asked.
“It’s kind of scary,” Morgan squeaked from the back of the room.
“Not as scary as not knowing what’s happening,” I said. “We should leave it on.”
We watched the same channel for the duration of class. No one talked. Once in a while someone would gasp or sigh to remind me where I was.
Germany had been the first to go. The countries to the north, like Norway and Sweden, hadn’t been heard from since half past eight. France had gone quickly, and then Spain, Italy, England, Ireland, and Greece had all reported cases.
