𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐂 | (adj.) "Otherworldly."
In an alternate version of present-day Britain, ghosts who are deadly to the touch have been rising from their graves for the past fifty years. Adults cannot sense the ghosts, but children can, so teenagers hav...
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐑 ears was deafening. That was the first thing Erin realized as she came to. Peeling her eyes open, she found herself to be launched a few meters from the well she'd been sat up against beside Anthony and George. She was face down on her stomach, head practically buried in the rubble around her. Her legs felt numb, but she ignored that for a moment, her lungs suddenly springing into action.
She coughed, so hard and deep her throat felt raw. As she inhaled, dust and debris flew to the back of her throat and she choked, her stomach muscles straining with the force of the next cough she gave. Feeling began to return to the other parts of her body. Her hands were first—she curled her fingers around the rubble near her hands and tried to push herself up. Once, twice, and three times was when she finally did it. She dragged herself forward, sliding her legs out from underneath the rubble.
Movement down her cupid's bow frightened her for a moment and she reached a dirty hand to wipe at her nose. As she pulled the fingers away, she muttered a few choice words beneath her breath, finding them to be stained a dark crimson. She blinked, wiping the blood on the sleeve of her already damaged coat. Her senses came back to her slowly, and she suddenly remembered exactly how she got into this situation. Blinking more furiously now, she willed her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the chamber, surveying the ground around her.
Over toward her right, she caught sight of a considerably person-sized lump lying motionless on the ground. The puffed parka told her all she needed to know about who it was.
"George," she croaked out, throat dry and filled with dust still. She coughed as she crawled over the rubble, reaching for his arm. She used it to pull herself over to him, gazing down at his face. His eyes, hidden behind glasses that miraculously survived the explosion, were closed, and through the layers he wore, Erin couldn't tell whether or not he was breathing. Frantically, her fingers gripped the front of his jacket, shaking him. "George! George!" When the shaking didn't rouse him, Erin did the next thing she could think of—she slapped him. His eyes flew open and Erin gasped out in relief. "Oh, my God—thank God! Are you okay?"
She helped George sit up, who mournfully brought his hand to the side of his face Erin had slapped. "My cheek hurts," he complained and Erin just released another relieved breath. George blinked a few times, looking up at Erin. His brows drew together, eyes widening. "Your nose—it's bleeding! And your cheek—"
"I'm all right," Erin assured him, wiping at her nose again with the sleeve of her coat. She hadn't felt that throbbing on her face before George pointed it out, but now that he had, she knew there was likely a bruise forming on her cheek where her face had met the floor. "I'm fine, I promise. We're—"
"Erin." The girl in question turned her head, watching as Anthony pushed himself into a seated position against the far wall. He coughed, meeting her eyes as he said her name again. "Erin . . . "
