Author's Note-

Hello, this is gbrowne and I write for Morana/Morrie. Please comment what you think and if you have any suggestions or anything like that please leave a review. I try my best with spelling and grammar so if you spot anything, you can say something, but I probably won't change it. Enjoy and REVIEW please!

Morana

It all starred the day she was bitten, but a lot of people say that it was the day that everything ended. Not to me anyway though, but that isn't the point. The point was that she was bleeding in the middle of our lawn.

My feet pounded the black, uneven driveway, "Echo? Echo!" She looked dead like someone had stuck a vacuum up her nose and sucked out all her blood. Except the blood that wasn't in her body was pooled around her.

This wasn't happening, she wasn't going to leave me like this. I wasn't going to be left alone. I knelt by her head as her black curls turned to crimson. "No, no, no," I saw the teeth at her neck and the slash in her side at the same time, "stay with me Echo, everything is alright."

Her eyes rolled back in her head and her body arched like she was suffocating. I pressed my hands to the wounds and started to pray to whoever was up there. I knew two things at that time, she was losing blood too quickly and I had to start compressions.

Her chest was heaving like her heart was in overdrive to keep the body running, I placed my hands on her chest quickly. The heart beat erratically like there was some type of foreign blood coursing through her body.

"One, two, three," I stopped and used my wrist to wipe my soaked blonde hair out of my eyes. Her blood was everywhere; on the street, in my hair, on my clothes, on her clothes. It was a nightmare.

She moaned, "I'm drying Morrie," her voice sounded faint and broken, "love you always little sister." Echo's eyes fluttered and I froze in the middle of my compressions.

"You aren't dying Echo," I pressed down hard on her neck, a hopeless believer just like what our aunt had said when I found a dying bird. I hated blood and death and anything that meant no more breathing. Even the smell of blood made me sick, it smelled like breathing acid and fire up my nose.

Her laugh filled the empty space between us in the same way water would fill lungs. It was breathless and hysterical, as the blood seemed to gush from the wounds and right through my fingers. I had to save her and time was running out. I was screaming, I realized faintly, I was holding her head and just screaming bloody murder. It was a hopeless scream that just seemed to take up air. I was watching myself die out on the cold hard ground like a puppet.

I took her hand in mine; the fingers were short and the nails were ovals painted with green nail polish. It was familiar like the way we would link fingers while walking to school or so we wouldn't loose each other in a crowd.

Her fingers squeezed mine, "I'm not dying Morrie, I'm not. Promise."

Another thing I hated, promises. I wasn't that hopeful, but I answered anyway in a monotone voice, "I know you aren't Echo. No one hears me though and I can't leave you like this to get help."

Echo smiled, "You don't believe me." I couldn't lie to her even when she was dying. Never weak, that was my Echo. Time seemed to drag and the wound never stopped bleeding, but she didn't die. I had wanted to run to our nearest neighbor, but it would take me twenty minutes because he was a mile away through the rugged forest terrain.

Echo kept insisting that she wasn't going to die, that she was actually healing. "I am," she whispered, "just wait. Don't go off and get them just yet."

So we waited for hours and eventually I laid down next to her in the leaves. They were scratchy against my skin as I moved. My eyes flickered shut then I opened them hastily, I wouldn't sleep now. I turned over and saw the space empty where Echo was, the only thing left was me and the blood that covered the leaves.

Heavy techno blasted through the speakers and I moaned. She didn't even like techno music. I turned in my seat and saw her driving the car carefully so that she wouldn't run it off the road. She had thick black hair that was piled into a bun on her head to keep it away from her dark jade eyes.

"Morning sun-shine," she chirped unusually perky for a Sunday morning on the road. I groaned and pulled my furry brown blanket tighter around me, but the seat belt was nudging me in the ribs too much.

I flicked a strand of blonde hair from my face and sat up straighter peering out the misted window, "Where are we now? Montana or North Dakota still?" The road we were driving was vacated and damp surrounded by towering pine trees with bright green bristles.

"Montana," Echo answered and made a sharp turn that was too sharp for my taste, "and you little sister slept the whole night long leaving me to do all of the damn inferred driving."

I shrugged, "I did drive all though North Dakota if you don't remember and plus, you love this car."

She smiled and patted the Jeep's dashboard like it was her child, "Don't you? She's a beauty and a trooper, we couldn't have made it through Minnesota without her." Echo's voice dropped a bit at the word Minnesota. Sometimes I wondered if she remembered all the lives she had taken while phased or if she banished them from her memory.

I poked her arm, "Don't feel bad about Minnesota. It was a rough spot and you worked your way though it," I cocked my head to the side and smiled, "I'm proud of you. You didn't try to kill me this time around, that's an improvement, right?"

"Don't joke," Echo's voice was sharp as ice, "it isn't funny. I killed people Morana and I can't control my own body. So don't laugh about things that you just don't understand."

I wanted to explode at her to say that I was the one that understood all along, that I was the one who stood by her and took her away. She was all that I had left, but she was right. I didn't get it, I didn't understand, but I tried to.

"Sorry Echo," I said briskly, "I am still trying to cope with this whole," I waved my hands in the air to show something exploding, "situation that we have going on here."

She brushed a curl behind her ear and made another turn, "I know." Echo didn't attempt to make conversation for a while and I was content with watching the passing scenery and the occasional deer or animal. Sometimes Echo's face was stone like the night she emerged from the woods after almost bleeding to death. Her jeans were in tatters as was her favorite v-neck with blood smeared down the front like someone had poured paint on her body. She had that look, like she had done something terrible. Something unforgivable.

"Have you gone in the house yet?" Echo asked, her voice wavered like she was afraid of what she would find when we got there.

I looked back at the house which was set back in the woods, "No," I looked at her neck where there was no neck before, "want to talk about it? You know I do."

She shook her head, "I don't want to Morrie," her eyes had that distant look, "ever."

So we didn't and the subject of that night was avoided from that point on. Mom and Dad were dead, that was just the way it was and the past. I hadn't seen their bodies, but Echo had packed my bag for me after I suggested that we just leave. She wouldn't let me see the bodies, but I think it was more in the likes of she didn't want me to see what she had become.

I bit the inside of my cheek, "Let's stop at the gas station and refill on gas, food, the restroom—you know, the essentials."

"Alrighty," Echo pulled the car over and popped the door open to let in some air. I unlocked my door and counted the wad of bills we had left, ten twenties and a five dollar bill to survive. The gas station was one of the bad ones that if Mom was here, she would make me hold onto her shirt tail. I grabbed Echo's favorite sour cream and onion chips and a root beer for me.

The cashier looked at me like I was homeless, but I couldn't blame him. In the movies and they're on the run they never show the parts when you have to use the bathroom sink in a McDonalds or when your pretty sure that your hair once was blonde.

He rubbed his huge stomach contently then scanned the chips and the drink, "Just these?" He gruffed shoving them into a plastic bag in a manner that I was sure crushed the chips.

"Yeah," I met his dark eyes quickly, "just this and the gas on that car right there. The green jeep at pump twelve."

He looked out the window and froze like he had seen a bear eating a picnic on the cement; the cashier looked at me then back at the window. I looked out and saw Echo carefully wiping off the windshield with one of the plastic wipers that was on the side of the pump. I laughed; she was practically kissing the car.

The cashier looked back at me with his eyes widened, "Where are you ladies headed? Idaho?" Instantly my paranoia turned on, along with the suspicion Echo had instilled in me from the first day we were on the run.

Her words rang in my head, don't answer questions and don't get cornered. "Um," I scratched my head, "in that direction. I hate the sun so, we heard it was less out there."

He coughed, "There is a reservation out in Washington, its in the area of La Push. Do you know it?" I shook my head no. "They have money there for you and land if you have Quileute blood in you. Do you?"

I stopped in the middle of pulling a twenty out of my banged up wallet to ponder it. I had tanner skin than Echo, but then again she was a corpse. I didn't have the trademark black hair and bronze skin, but part of me sang that I had to be Native American.

I put the bill on the counter, "I don't know if I do, but there's a chance that I do. Money and shelter would be great," I laughed then instantly regretted it, I had said too much.

"You should go anyway," he lowered his voice and leaned across the counter like he was going to tell me a secret, "there are others living there."

Possibilities ran through my head, "Others? What do you mean by that?""

He shook his head then looked out the window at Echo who was eying the store worriedly like I had been tied up and gagged already. Was he saying that there was others of Echo's kind there? Was this the lead I was looking for?

I narrowed my eyes at him, "What do you mean specifically?"

"Never mind," he said handing me the bag, "its on the house." He handed me back the bill and nodded his head at the door, "Thanks."

I edged towards the door and slipped out with a clink of the bells that were attached to the glass door. Echo looked up sharply from inside the car and smiled, when I didn't return the smile she frowned and gestured for me to get in the car.

I unlocked the driver's door and slid in, "Sorry it took so long," I gathered my hair into a pony-tail and secured it with an elastic band, "the guy at the front was creepy."

Echo glanced back at the store then handed me the keys, "He didn't hurt you did he, because if he did I am going to pound his ass—"

I started the car and turned off the brake, "No, no, he just saw you and went berserk. He asked us if we were headed to Washington and said there is money and shelter available at this reservation. Literally, he said quote on quote, 'there are others.' What that hell does that mean?"

Some sunlight filtered through the smoggy clouds and hit me in the eyes. Echo was smiling that faint smile that was barley a turning up of the corners of her lips, "There is only one way to find out."

"What's that?" I asked speeding along the road hoping there was no cops around to arrest me.

"We go to Washington and to this reservation," she cut off my protests, "come on Morrie, you know it's the only lead we've had in a while. This could be what we've been looking for." She echoed my thoughts from a couple minutes ago.

When I didn't answer she whooped, "We're going on an adventure and it's going to be very different," Echo leaned back in her seat, happier than I've seen her in weeks, "and good. This is something good that has happened to us, for once."

I frowned deeper, what if it wasn't a lead? I didn't bring it up and proceeded to shove in my mixed CD into the car. Aerosmith filtered though the banged up speakers, I smiled and hit the speed again.

Echo groaned, "Why is it always classic rock? I'm royally sick of Aerosmith and Prince and what's the other song you love? The one you always have to play when you drive. Its that awful one…"

"The Stones?" I piped in helpfully.

"No, but they stink too, its… Oh, god I really should know this one after North Dakota," she tapped her chin thoughtfully like some great philosopher.

I flipped the songs and turned it up so loud that the beats bounced off the car windows. "This one?" I yelled, turning down the window so that the music flew behind us like footsteps.

"Ugh! Yes," she propped her boot clad feet on the dashboard, "Highway to Hell. You know, I thought I was the pessimist."

I shrugged, "You aren't always right."

Echo scoffed and let her fingers trail in the air, "You know what Morrie? Hell is hot, pigs don't fly, and I'm never wrong. It's just the way it is, deal with it." And who could reason with that logic?

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