Dying by the Hour (A Jesse Sullivan Novel Book 2) Read Free Page B

respond.
    “Regina,” I say, sharply. “What is my name?”
    “Alice Gilligan.”
    Close enough. “And why am I here?”
    “To assist—”
    “Exactly,” I cut her off. “I am here to assist. So will you assist me? We need to move everyone inside. Will you help me get everyone inside so I can work?”
    “Is she—is—”
    “Jesse is very good at her job.” I’m calm. I tuck my hair behind my ears. “Julia will be fine. Regina, look at me .”
    She does.
    I have to be firm with her. “Take everyone inside and stay there until I tell you otherwise.”
    When I worry she won’t respond again, I clap my hands in front of her face a couple of times. It does the trick. Her eyes focus and turn toward her daughter’s guests for the first time. I help her with the words.
    “We need everyone to go inside, please,” I say. “We need to make room for the emergency crews. Go inside. Go on.”
    Everyone is slow, sluggish with shock but they begin to move. The children and many of the mothers are still crying, but at least they’re moving. As they funnel through the sliding glass doors, I pull out my phone and call 911. Julia, though probably alive, will still need medical care. Jesse only has the ability to heal herself, not others. Then I call the fire department so they can come and cut up the tree. The firefighter asks me to repeat myself twice before accepting that a tree fell on a person.
    Then I’m alone. Waiting. I look at my clock: 3:58PM. I move closer to Jesse and Julia. I look at those legs sticking out from under the tree and say my silent prayers to myself—my reassurances. She is not dead. She will wake up. It’s okay, Ally. She is safe.
    I’ve seen her dead so many times you would think I have no fear of her dying.
    You’d be wrong.
    I crouch beside her as a piercing siren cuts the day in half. It’s very close and the wail forces me to cover my ears. Once it falls quiet again, I place one hand on Jesse’s calf and find it damp and cold.
    A small terror rises inside me and I say my silent prayers again. And again.
    Firefighters erupt from the side fence. They flood the yard in their yellow jumpsuits. One is carrying a chainsaw. Another, something that looks like a jack. I give a little wave to draw them over. They come at a run.
    “This is authorized replacement #60432,” I tell them. “There is a little girl under there with the agent.”
    “Stand back, please,” the one carrying the chainsaw says. He’s young with a scruffy jaw. I oblige.
    I’m relieved that he starts farther down on the tree. The sound of the saw eating wood, its high-pitched whine of hunger, still makes me nervous, but at least I know they will not miss and cut flesh.
    The heavy trunk falls away and only a considerably smaller piece of wood lies on top of Jesse and Julia. The firefighters shout orders to each other over the noise. They say the bodies .
    The bodies.
    I keep my anger under control.
    The paramedics arrive while the firefighters are still removing the tree. I wave them over and they come running. It’s a man and a woman. The man carries a large bag, the woman a stretcher.
    “This is authorized replacement #60432,” I repeat. “There is a death replacement agent and a little girl, four years old.”
    “Do you suspect head trauma?” the man asks.
    My heart swells with gratitude. He’s considering Jesse’s health as much as Julia’s. Unfortunately, you’d be surprised how often Jesse’s well-being is overlooked. People equate NRD with invincibility. But Jesse is not invincible—despite what she might think.
    Her NRD has its limits.
    For people with NRD, once they die, their brain starts sending a bombardment of electro-impulses through the body to wake them up, not unlike a hypnic jerk some people feel when falling asleep. When they wake up they get a metabolic boost which allows them to heal the damage accrued in a death. Neurologists aren’t sure why this happens, or how a person develops NRD.