The Collector by Laura Kat Young EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Laura Kat Young
- Language: English
- Genre: Dystopian Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
That morning, Dev had breakfasted on sausages. He’d woken
ravenous, his salivary glands tightening at the thought of it. He’d
forgotten to eat dinner—yes, that was it—and he’d stumbled into the
kitchen, groggy and still dreaming. The sausages had tasted salty,
comforting. But now, sitting in his car, waiting to go inside Doris
McGregor’s home, the meat churned in his belly. He swallowed his hot,
thick spit down twice and tilted his head down as if he were looking at
something—a map perhaps. His hands. It was only for a moment, and
to anyone that had been watching it could’ve been anything. He
breathed in, but it was short and rushed and unsatisfying.
Dev pulled the car visor down and looked in the small lighted
mirror on its back. His throat felt tight, and he half expected to see his
neck bulging, swollen and spilling over the starched fabric of his shirt.
He slid his forenger in between his sticky skin and collar. He tugged at
it and then slowly placed his hands on the steering wheel, curling his
ngers around the braided leather cover and squeezing until his
knuckles turned white. There on his thumb were three tiny marks, little
scabs from scraping against something. He dragged a ngertip over the
scabs. They were fresh. It was the most curious thing.
He ipped the visor back up and looked out the side window toward
Doris’s house. It was like the others on the hidden road: a detached
sandstone cottage with a slate roof, and stone pillars anking the old
timber door. But unlike the other cottages on the street, whose windows
gleamed and front steps were swept clean, Doris’s curtains stayed drawn.
A black wreath hung on her door. There were other telltale signs that
she was struck as well—an overowing garbage can, weeds in the
daffodils, a rain-soaked package that had tipped onto its side. They were
things that some might easily overlook, but Dev, who had eyes trained
to spot such anomalies, noticed. The Bureau had tackled blight during
the early years of Mitigation, and now the streets, once rundown and
dirty, were tidy; it was nearly impossible to neglect household
responsibilities without someone taking note.
Doris’s home looked
dingy and old compared to the others. But it was to be expected.
Dev straightened his tie, his pocket square, too. Then he adjusted
the delicate silver pin on his left lapel. With his thumbs and his
forengers, he reinforced the backing and made sure that the crest of
the Collection Unit—a carrion crow landing in front of a setting sun—
was upright and secure. When he was satised, he breathed in slowly
through his nostrils and held the air in his lungs to the count of four.
He was supposed to exhale double: four in, eight out—they taught him
that in one of the trainings—but when he got to the fth count, he let
the rest of the air out through his mouth quickly, noisily, his lips
apping together in a quick drum.
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