Among Us: A Supernatural Novel written by Carver Edlund

Bad Reception

Lemara woke feeling sick. The body aches, the bad taste in her mouth, her swollen tongue and throat, the shivering that did nothing to warm her. Plus, something was digging into her forehead. She groaned, trying to roll away from it. Then she cracked open her eyes and wished she really were sick.

It stank like an outhouse. If she could have breathed through her mouth, she would have, but something—duct tape, by the feel of it—covered her face from chin to nose.

Eyes watering, she tried to sit up but found that her ankles were bound like her mouth, her wrists behind her back. A rock, or bit of debris, chewed savagely at the skin of her forehead as she lay, holding her breath so she wouldn't have to smell human waste. Where was she?

Warehouse. That was the only word that came to mind. Besides movie set. Because that was what it looked like. She was lying in the kind of abandoned building used in so many horror flicks. Pigeons streaked beneath a ceiling two stories off the ground. Faded blue light filtered through high, filthy, broken windows, pushing the shadows to the warehouse floor. The shadows pooled like heavy gases, hiding most details from view. Chains and hooks hung in the still air over silent conveyor belts. Dirt caked tarps, canvas, and forgotten crates. The foul air nipped at her exposed skin. She wondered if it was snowing outside.

Then she made a sound of disbelief low in her sore throat as the reality of her situation finally clicked into place. Son of a bitch. She'd been abducted.

Aya. Her friend's face flashed through her mind, and tears pricked at her sinuses. Aya. I'm scared. How did this happen? Des was on the okay list.

Oh, God—Des!

Lemara managed to roll onto her stomach. She'd been aware of other muted sounds of distress for a while. Squinting, she could make out the forms of people, taped up just like her. Maybe ten of them; she couldn't tell from her position on the icy cement floor. Several pairs of frightened eyes met hers. Including those of the redheaded chick from the nightclub.

Red had been crying. Stripes of freckled skin and dark dirt streaked the tops of her pale cheeks. Lemara tried to telegraph some reassurance with her eyes, but immediate disgust flooded through her, and she ceased. What was she thinking? She was in the same situation! There was no comfort to be had.

Footsteps, loud and purposeful in the chilly air. The man who had introduced himself as Luka appeared. He bent down, preparing to lift a freshly crying Red. Shocked, Lemara watched Red struggle to evade her boyfriend's hands, whimpering and grunting through her nose, her face a mask of silver tape and terror.

"Not that one," a voice Lemara recognized as Kittney's said. The teenager in her Hot Topic ensemble appeared out of the gloom, but irritated.

Luka looked at her, his sneer ugly, and dropped Red. She squirmed like a kid zipped into a sleeping bag, inchworming closer to Lemara. At first, Lemara, though bewildered by Red's obvious fear of her boyfriend, felt relief at having a familiar person so near. Then the smell wafting off Red explained at least one thing. Like not every abductee had been lucky enough to use a toilet before getting tranqed and brought here. Wherever here was.

"Take him," Kittney went on, pointing at a lump near the stack of crates.

Luka did, scowling. He dragged the struggling abductee free and hefted him in a fireman's carry. Lemara recognized the blue silk shirt and the buzzed hair, only a shade darker than the skin. Desmond!

He saw her too and began flailing, yelling into the tape. She screamed back. Their muffled voices caused the rest of the captives to start kicking up a fuss.

That wasn't the only thing. Kittney walked over to her and very calmly kicked her in the face.

Lemara's head whipped around. After a second of stunned silence, a trickle of blood filled her left nostril. She pressed her cheek into the gritty floor and squeezed her eyes shut. She would not cry. She would not.