Ex-Purgatory Peter Clines (books for 5 year olds to read themselves TXT) 📖

& Koch G36 rifle her father had converted into a breakdown model. The pink suitcase held the gun leather, belts, and ammunition.

Stealth reached out and unzipped both of the garment bags at the same time.

Both were empty.

There was no need to double-check. Even before she had finished opening them, the weight of the hanging cases told her everything had been removed. She prodded the suitcase. It felt full, but the contents would be useless without the weapons.

“What are you doing?”

She spun, her arms flying to a defensive position as her weight shifted to her back leg.

Quilt stood six feet away. Just out of reach for a kick. His hands were behind his back. His stance appeared open and relaxed.

They stared at each other for a moment.

His hands came out from behind his back. They were empty. His left forefinger had a small patch of oil, half the size of a dime, alongside the nail. He reached up and adjusted his glasses. He did not blink. His eyes were on hers.

If he’d meant to fight, his gaze would’ve been at the top of her sternum. It gave a clear view of the body without the distraction of the opponent’s eyes. Stealth was not sure why she thought the Quilt of this world would now consider her an opponent.

She lowered her hands. Not to her sides, but low enough to show a degree of concession. “I require the weapons,” she told him. “Where are they?”

Her father’s head shifted and he allowed himself a single blink. “The pistols are in the safe, as always,” he said. “The blades are in my room. They were due to be cleaned and oiled. Why do you need them?”

“It would be difficult to explain.”

He dipped his chin, a concession of his own. He turned and took a few steps across the suite toward his room. “Do you require a blade or pistol? Or a combination?”

“I will need all of them.”

FREEDOM HAD IDENTIFIED a side door to one apartment complex at the top of some steps. The door swung outward so nothing could surprise them from behind. Exes didn’t do well with stairs, so being eight steps up gave them some safety in the front. There were three cars parked on the street in front of the staircase, forming a bit more of a barrier.

The top of the staircase gave him a clear view of the street and half the intersection. He panned his head back and forth across, watching each pedestrian and each car that drove by. Studying the drivers reminded him of the checkpoints in Iraq.

He glanced back at Dr. Morris. “I could use your help,” he said. “I’m not entirely sure what Mr. Burke looks like.”

Dr. Morris—Danielle—stood with her back to the door behind him. It seemed to calm her to be surrounded. She was still vague in his memory. He seemed to remember her being much larger and brasher. He guessed part of that had to be the Cerberus battlesuit. She hadn’t said much since George and Karen Quilt left.

No, he corrected himself. St. George and Stealth. He knew those were the right names, but his mind kept defaulting to the other ones.

“He’s bald and black,” said Madelyn.

“You just described me.”

“And he’s in a wheelchair.”

“Probably not if he’s in a cab,” said Danielle. She leaned forward and looked either way down the street. “He’s got light brown eyes. He smiles a lot. He’s really thin because his power …” She closed her eyes and brought up her fingers, but the memories came before she snapped. “His power eats him up.”

The description brought an image to Freedom’s mind, but it was still too vague.

Madelyn still hung on Freedom’s neck. He barely noticed her weight. Every now and then she’d shift her hips against his back. It disturbed him at first, and then he realized she was trying to make her legs work.

Her skin was cold. He could feel it on his neck, even through her sleeves. She gave off no warmth at all. He’d felt bodies like that before. Another reminder of Iraq and Afghanistan.

He remembered the name Stealth had used. The Corpse Girl. He still wasn’t sure what it meant. He just knew seeing Madelyn had filled him with a great sense of relief.

A man walked by pushing a three-wheeled baby stroller. He chattered away on his phone and gave only a glance to the people up on the steps. A few more strides carried him past a decorative planter and out of sight. His voice continued for a few moments and then it faded, too.

“This sucks,” said Madelyn.

He turned his head enough to see her in the corner of his eye. Her skin looked pale in the bright sunlight. “How so?”

“I figured once we all got back together everything would start making sense again. That everything would be fine.”

“Fine how?”

“Just, you know … fine. Back to the way things are supposed to be. We’d all get together and something would pop and we’d all be good again.”

“In my experience,” said Freedom, “most problems aren’t solved that easily.”

Danielle snorted.

The world rippled around them. One moment the hotel was tall and pristine. The next, the bottom half was wrapped in overgrown ivy. Two balconies near the top were marked with black halos of soot.

A car in the middle of the street came to an abrupt halt and gained three years’ worth of dust. Two of the figures across the street vanished, and the other two went from walking to staggering. The planter in front of them exploded with wild growth.

“Be careful what you wish for,” muttered Danielle.

“Whoa,” said Madelyn.

“You saw it this time?” asked Freedom.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m still seeing it. Home again, home again, like Mom used to say.”

“Should we stay here?” asked Danielle.

“We should be good,” said Freedom. “The plants hide us a bit more now, and the stairs still give us restricted access.”

“Also means we’ll have a harder time spotting Barry,” she said.

Madelyn looked at the hotel. “You think they’re okay inside?”

“They’re