Life After: The Complete Series

by Julie Hall

  Still examining my fingers, I walked right into Logan’s back. He barely budged, but I bounced off of him like a basketball and rebounded into the wall. Luckily the mossy texture had some cushion, so it didn’t hurt as much as it could have. No words of concern from Logan, of course. He simply glanced over his shoulder and then held his hand up to the wall much the same way he’d done to the tree trunk. This time a white door materialized out of the brown. He stepped back and finally looked at me.

  “Here it is,” he said.

  “Here what is?”

  Logan shrugged. “You know, your room.”

  I stared at him incredulously. “You mean I live in a tree?”

  One corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement. “Don’t worry, it’s not forever. And you’ll get used to it after a while.”

  And with that, he turned and headed back the way we’d just come. No good-bye, no see ya later, no instructions or explanations. He just left. And despite the million questions I should have asked him, my mind had gone completely blank. I was too overwhelmed for a quick retort. I mean, was someone coming back to get me? Was I supposed to know what to do next? How long was I going to have to stay in this tree?

  When I couldn’t see Logan’s retreating figure anymore, my body finally unfroze. I peered at the white door. It was so smooth. Could it be plastic rather than wood? How stupid would it be to live in a tree and have the door be made out of something other than wood? I gave myself a mental shake. Pull it together girl! Gripping the white handle I slowly opened the door.

  The room was white. Utterly and completely white. So white it caused a bout of déjà vu, as if I stood in the nothingness once more. The walls were the same color as the floor, and it didn’t look like there was anything else to the room. I was alone in a big white room . . . again. What the heck?

  Taking slow and steady steps forward I hesitantly reached for one of the walls, afraid it might be padded like at an insane asylum. Something mechanical clicked at my touch. My feet tangled from my hasty retreat as a bed slid out from the wall. It was white too.

  At least I now knew the dead still slept. Judging by the serene whiteness of the room, it must be true they even rested in peace. A little giggle escaped my lips. Okay, that wasn’t an appropriate or even a good joke, but I was a little slaphappy at this point. I sat on the bed, unsure whether I wanted to touch another wall to see if anything else would pop out. The bed felt soft and luxurious, but how was anyone supposed to sleep with all this light?

  The moment I thought it, the room went pitch black.

  Okay, that was creepy, I thought. I think I preferred the lights on.

  They came back on.

  My brows furrowed. Hmmm, let’s try that again.

  I thought lights off, and the room darkened. I thought lights on, and they came on again. Well, that is definitely cooler than The Clapper, I thought with another chuckle.

  I lay back on the bed, staring straight up at the white ceiling. How was it I could remember The Clapper but not anything about my life? I tried to catalog what I did know: The Clapper. That Logan’s highlights came from time in the sun. I knew facts and details of things on Earth, I just couldn’t pull up any personal memories. I remembered peanut butter but didn’t know if I liked it, hated it, or was allergic to it. I remembered actors and movies and TV shows, but I didn’t remember when I had seen them or whom I was with. I couldn’t make sense of any of it.

  Lying on the bed made me realize I was beyond exhausted. When had that come on? I curled up into the fetal position with my eyes still open. I tried in vain to feel bad about what I had left behind, but instead, I found myself aggravated that I couldn’t remember what exactly that was. Exhaustion pulled at me, and I wasn’t able to hold onto my frustration for long.

  Just before I nodded off, I remembered to think lights off, and everything went dark.

  4

  Training

  I was awakened by a knock at the door. On the second knock, I sat up so hastily I almost tumbled out of bed. Lights on, I thought quickly, and the room was drenched in white. I shut my eyes against the sudden change. Another knock sounded at the door.

  I rolled out of bed, free of bedding because I hadn’t bothered to get under any. Was it Shannon or Logan? I hesitated a moment before reaching for the knob. I couldn’t decide which option I preferred.

  When I opened the door, a girl around my age but taller, with warm brown eyes and a wide, friendly smile stood on the other side. Some of my tension eased.

  “Hi, I’m Romona.” She waved, then reached out for a handshake.

  When our hands met, I sucked in a sharp breath and immediately snatched mine back, protectively holding it to my chest as if injured. It had happened so quickly it was difficult to make sense of—as if a feeling of warmth, salted with pity and concern, had spread from our connected hands and through my body. I glared accusingly at Romona. Her dark brows furrowed, then smoothed a moment later.

  “Oh, right, the empathy link. You must not know about that yet. Whenever our skin touches, we get an impression of the other person’s emotions.” She brought her hands together to demonstrate. “I know it’s a little odd at first, but you’ll get used to it after a while. Well, most people do at least.”

  I regarded her warily. “And what if you don’t get used to it?”

  She gave a slight shrug. “Then you just get used to not touching anyone, I suppose.”

  Ha, I thought, just like that, huh?

  “Anyway,” she went on, “I wanted to come introduce myself and see if you wanted any company on the way back to the training center today. I know it takes some time to get used to things around here, especially with all those guys.” She rolled her eyes with a lopsided grin. “Logan was supposed to get you, but when I heard you were here, I asked if I could instead. I’m a little excited to have another girl in the ranks. And . . .” she swiftly bent to retrieve a small white bag at her feet and held it proudly out in front of her, “I brought you some breakfast!”

  I was still trying to figure her out. “Are you a . . . um . . . you know, one of them?”

  “A hunter? That’s right! We few girls need to stick together!”

  I released a breath I hadn’t intended to hold. “I’m so glad I’m not the only girl.”

  “I’m getting the feeling they didn’t explain much to you, did they?”

  I could have cried with relief at being understood. “Everything has been pretty vague so far. I didn’t even know what I was supposed to do when I woke up today. So I guess I should say thanks for coming to get me. And for breakfast too.”

  “Of course! Can I come in?”

  “Oh yeah, sorry.” I stepped aside to let her through the doorway.

  She glided into the room, making a quick turn to take in all the whiteness. I wondered if the floor made her dizzy too. Within seconds the room filled with the pleasant aroma of whatever she had in her bag.

  Romona sat on the end of the white bed. Her skin, the color of a light latte, stood out in contrast to the starkness of the room. Her hair, a shade of brown-black, was braided in a plait that fell over her shoulder and almost down to her waist. Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement. She was trying hard to keep herself in check as her folded hands, resting on her knees, bounced up and down with the jiggling of her legs.

  Finally, she couldn’t wait any longer. “So how long have you been here?”

  “Oh, just a day. I got, uh, here yesterday. I think. Are there still days here?”

  “Yep. And they already have you training? Gee whiz, that’s fast.”

  “Really? How does it usually work?”

  “There’s not really a ‘usually’ about it. Everyone is different. But most of the time they give people time to adjust. I suppose there is a reason to throw you right in.”

  That wasn’t reassuring. Sensing she’d said something wrong, her face fell. She continued quickly. “But that’s better, because it means you get to acclimate yourself to being
a hunter that much faster. And you’ll get to meet people and train right away.”

  The smile on her face looked plastered on. It was obvious she was trying hard to make me feel better. I plastered on my own smile in return.

  “Well, I guess that’s a good thing then. So what am I supposed to be doing this morning?”

  “Oh right!” She jumped up from the bed. “I’m supposed to be taking you to your first day of training. Would you like to change into your training clothes?”

  I looked down at myself. I was wearing camel-colored flats, dark-washed skinny jeans, and a couple layers of purple-hued tank tops. I didn’t know what was appropriate for training, but it was safe to assume this wasn’t it. Romona, in tight-fitting Spandex and sporty shoes, looked ready for a five-mile run. I did not.

  “Um, I guess so?”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Let’s get you ready for your first day of training!” She put her hands on one of the white walls, which split apart to reveal a wardrobe.

  Only a few other people were at the training center early. I was pleased—I wanted a moment to get my bearings. I was grateful for Romona. Not only had she fed me and shown me the secret closet, but she’d given me a brief tour of the facility.

  The training center was even larger than I had imagined. There were four main gyms for general use. Each was almost as large as a football field, with a wide array of machines, weights, and weapons. Never-ending hallways led to smaller individual training gyms.

  Romona explained that a hunter is always either in training or training someone else. She was working with another new recruit, as she called him. I briefly wondered how he was handling being trained by a girl. Although the way Logan had shut up after the mention of her name yesterday, I imagined Romona had a reputation for holding her own.

  Apparently, the first few weeks of training for a newbie were the most intense, something about shocking the body into becoming a fighting machine. Nothing about that appealed to me.

  I now sat alone in the middle of the training gym waiting for Logan. Even with my workout clothes on, I felt incredibly out of place. My mind wandered to what I must have done to be assigned this type of occupation in the afterlife. Was it possible I was in a gang or something? If so, I would bet I had some crazy street moves buried somewhere in my memory. I glanced over at the weapons wall. Was I a championship fencer or archer? There had to be some special skill I possessed or they wouldn’t have let me in here, right?

  I chewed a fingernail as I let my eyes browse the room. Weights and punching bags. Slightly padded floor; no windows unless you counted the small ones at the top of the doors that let out into the hallway. Everything looked pretty normal, that is, except for that massive wall of weapons.

  Wanting a closer look I pushed myself off the mat. The wall was without a doubt the most interesting part of the gym. There were swords and knives of all different shapes and sizes, bows and funny-looking arrows, and ninja-type weapons like nunchakus and fighting sticks. It was obvious all these weapons were fashioned for men. Most of them looked extremely heavy and sharp, and were larger than the width of my arm. I tried to visualize wielding one with confidence, but I couldn’t imagine using them with any sort of ease. I was fascinated, but I didn’t feel a stirring familiarity that would suggest I had been into any of this stuff when I was alive.

  I stopped in front of the collection of swords. Unable to restrain myself, I tentatively picked up one of the heavier-looking blades, holding the handle in both hands. The sharp blade on this sword was slightly curved and wider than most of the others—wide enough to see my reflection.

  Dark eyes stared back at me—eyes that should have been familiar but weren’t. Brows slightly raised in surprise. They were delicate and evenly shaped, a few shades deeper than the dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. The eyes were a rich brown color. Not dark enough to look black but not light enough to be hazel. More like a deep walnut. The nose was small with a slight slope and sat in the middle of a heart-shaped face that was completely nonthreatening. I tried to memorize the contours of the stranger’s face in the reflection.

  The sound of the gym door being thrown open made me jump. I dropped the sword and let out a short, high-pitched scream. I immediately clamped a hand to my mouth to stop the painfully girlie sound. The sword narrowly missed my foot, embedding itself in the soft floor of the gym.

  Two sets of eyes watched me from the gym’s entrance. Their faces telling. One friendly if not mildly curious, and the other annoyed.

  Logan, the annoyed one, spoke first. “You shouldn’t be touching those. You could hurt yourself.”

  In contrast, the guy standing next to him wore a wide grin. Tall, broad-shouldered, and Viking-like in appearance, he stuck out his hand. I extended mine and was slightly unnerved as his emotions rushed in. At least now I knew why he was grinning—it wasn’t so much out of friendliness as amusement. He gave my hand a good shake and then let go. His hand was so large it was like shaking hands with a bear. I had to crane my neck to look up at his face.

  “Hi there, my name is Alrik. I didn’t get the pleasure of introducing myself yesterday.”

  Yesterday? He must have been the one training with Logan. I took Alrik in again as he pulled the sword out of the mat and returned it to its place. Sandy blond hair fell to his shoulders. With a jolt, I realized that with a name like Alrik he might actually be a Viking. When he straightened, he turned toward Logan, who was tall but didn’t come close to Alrik’s semi-giant stature.

  “See, no problem here, Logan. You don’t have to pout over there like a baby.”

  Alrik turned back to me with a grin large enough to say he knew exactly which of Logan’s buttons he was pushing. He bent closer to me and whispered, “Don’t worry, Aud, Logan’s really a big softy at heart. Don’t let him push you around too much.”

  He straightened and gave me a wink before leaving. After a moment his voice boomed from down the hall. “Now try not to kill each other, you two. You know the expression is make love, not war.” He was laughing at his own lame joke as the door swung shut.

  I willed my face not to turn pink. Logan didn’t say anything, but he was shaking his head as he walked over to a bench to set down his bag. Without a word, he pulled out a pair of shoes to replace the ones he was wearing. Self-conscious and itchy in my own skin, I shifted my weight from one leg to the other. Even though he had been pretty rude so far, it hadn’t dampened my curiosity about him.

  Some hair fell over Logan’s face as he finished tying his laces, so I lost the opportunity to study it. So far, I’d only seen his moods range from stoic to annoyed and slightly angry. I hoped he had a broader range than that.

  He looked up and caught my blatant stare. I turned in a futile attempt to cover my gawking and pretended to be extremely interested in a particularly menacing-looking weapon with multiple spikes attached to a large wooden handle.

  “Okay, let’s get started with some warm-ups. We’ll see what kind of shape you were in when you died.”

  Another pit formed over the seemingly permanent one in my stomach. I was willing to bet that working out could be added to the list of things that weren’t familiar to me in life.

  Forty-five minutes later, I was throwing up into a garbage can in the corner of the gym. Logan had apparently been using the term “warm-up” loosely. He started by running me through twenty-five minutes of calisthenics, which left me struggling for breath. He followed that up with what he called a light run around the gym. When we finally stopped, I started dry heaving and gagging. Logan rolled his eyes and pointed to a trash can in the corner of the room. I barely made it there before my breakfast came back up. There was no way I was ever eating eggs with cheese again. When it finally felt as if my entire meal was out and my breathing and heartbeat had slowed, I straightened.

  Logan was standing just a few feet away with a paper cup in his hand.

  “Here,” he said, extending the cup toward me. I was careful not to touch his fi
ngers when I took it. I didn’t want to know what he was feeling.

  “You’ll want to swish and spit. Then fill it up over there.” He jerked his head to the left to indicate a drinking fountain. “You can get dehydrated fast when you throw up.” His mouth turned down at the corners. “You’re more out of shape than I thought.”

  I took a gulp of the water, swished, and spit it into the can. So disgusting.

  “You’re going to have to work on building up your endurance outside of training,” Logan went on. “I won’t be able to do much with you if you’re throwing up before we even get to skills training.”

  My blood boiled at the flippant insults. Before I realized it, my mouth was moving again. “Well, I’m really sorry I didn’t get in better shape before I died. Had I known I’d be working with a bunch of meatheads for eternity, I’m sure I would have prepared a little better.”

  Shaken, I pitched the empty cup and turned to get fresh water from the drinking fountain without waiting for Logan to respond. He was silent as I took a few glorious gulps of cold water.

  When I finished and turned back to the gym, Logan threw something at me. I was so caught off guard that one smacked me in the shoulder and the other bounced off my stomach.

  “Put those on.”

  “Huh?” I looked down. Boxing gloves. He had thrown boxing gloves at me. He had to be kidding.

  “Don’t I get a break?”

  “You just did.” He moved a large punching bag into position.

  I grudgingly pulled the gloves on. I fiddled with the Velcro straps, trying to figure out how to tighten them with so little mobility in my thumbs, until Logan finally came over to adjust them for me. He pulled the straps around my wrists tight enough to cut off circulation.

  Suddenly, I had the worst itch on my nose, impossible to scratch with these oversized oven mitts on my hands. I lifted my arm to try to scratch it on my sleeve when I noticed Logan staring at me. He waited by the punching bag with his arms crossed over his chest.