White Reaper Rising

by brunettefan89

Three years have passed since the Final Ride. The dead are returning, but not as zombies. Across the globe six people have been reborn. Society as a whole is grappling with this change. People asked who would be next. No one expected the next rebirth to be in Stockton prison during dinner.

3. Chapter 3

"Am I in Hell?"

Two figures stood on a desolate gray plane of existence. A sky of swirling gray and white hung overhead. The air felt cold, as though an early spring rainstorm would begin soon. Moments before they had stood in the blood splattered Stockton cafeteria amidst a prison riot.

"No." The White Reaper whispered. "This is neither Heaven, Hell, nor whatever place humanity has invented."

The haunted man gulped and reached for his neck. "I am dead, right." The wounds still gaped.

"Quite dead." She replied. "The odds of surviving your injuries are low, even if help had come immediately."

He licked his dry lips. "Who are you, then?"

"Many people call me the Reaper." She paused. "I look very different from what is shown on your arm."

"Yeah, you do." He reached out to touch the gauzy, flowing white cowl. The hand stopped short and pulled back. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't…"

"Some of your former brothers were not as composed when the Reaper came to collect." She told him in that unearthly voice. "Not many would consider reaching for me." Her skeletal hand caressed a tan cheek with genuine affection.

Juice leaned into the touch. It had been so long since someone touched him without hurting him in some way. Tears began to fall from his eyes. "What is going to happen now?" His voice cracked.

The White Reaper wrapped her arms around him as he sobbed into her prominent ribcage. She stroked the bare skin of his skull. "Something you should not fear, child." Bright white light enveloped the two figures as something miraculous began.

In a heavily guarded hospital room, an awestruck child stared at the White Reaper. He reached out to feel the bony but flesh covered hand. He marveled how cold it felt compared to his own hand. Without hesitation he tugged on the long fingers, silently inviting the regal woman with thick brown hair onto the bed. Her weight barely made a dip in the mattress. The child held out a simple book to the woman. She smiled, mouth a bit too wide, and snuggled close. Without opening her mouth, she began to "read" to her youngest charge.