Read The Apocalypse for Free Online

to insist that you sleep, actually, dude. You can't run yourself down."
    "Sleep's better than school," Isaac conceded.
    When Jake parked at his house, Isaac had finished eating. They both exited the car, but Jake's brow furrowed when he realized Isaac was gearing up to cross the street. "Where are you going?" Jake asked. "You can hang out over here."
    Isaac motioned for Jake, so the two of them ended up on the front porch of the Ayers' home. Jake's eyebrows rose when Isaac realized he didn't have his house key. Before he could go searching under the snow for the spare, Jake unlocked the door with his key, and Isaac flew inside, with Jake following him in.
    The house was chilly, but tinkering around with the thermostat took care of that. Starting a fire in the living room's fireplace helped matters also, and within fifteen minutes, the house was growing toasty. Jake stood up and admired the fire he created but then saw that Isaac wasn't in the room. He only needed one guess to find the boy's whereabouts.
    "I bet Hannah would have a cow if she knew you were prowling through her stuff," Jake remarked as he entered Hannah's bedroom. A year must have passed since he was last in that room, but it looked about the same. Isaac was sitting at her desk, looking through a drawer. "What are you doing?"
    Isaac shrugged and held up a scrapbook. Even Jake could recognize Hannah's handwriting on the cover. "People in books and movies always surround an amnesiac with familiar stuff. It might help Hannah jog her memory."
    "Maybe." Jake wasn't sure he bought into that, but maybe he just didn't care one way or the other. Sure, it sucked to be Hannah right now, but old feelings die hard. "Oh my God, Isaac."
    Isaac snapped upright. "What?"
    "Look at this."
    Isaac dropped the scrapbook onto the lime green comforter of Hannah's queen-sized bed and joined Jake, who was staring incredulously at something on Hannah's bulletin board, which took up a portion of a purple wall. "What is it?"
    "Ayers has a picture of me on her wall," Jake significantly announced, a smirk on his face. Sure enough, on the board full of pictures, there was one where a thirteen year old Hannah held Jake in a headlock; he was scowling, but she was laughing. "Never would have guessed that."
    "Oh." Isaac didn't seem impressed. "That's nothing. Look." His blue eyes scanned the board, and he suddenly pointed out another picture. In that one, Hannah, Jake, and Isaac were sitting on a towel at the beach smiling and nursing sunburns. "Wasn't that the summer before you guys started middle school?"
    "Yeah." Jake grinned and shook his head at the picture. "Ayers isn't as predictable as I thought." Jake looked around the room, suddenly curious. "I wonder where she keeps her voodoo doll of me."
    Returning to Hannah's desk, Isaac dug around in the drawer. "I've only ever heard her speak of it, so I have no idea."
    Jake moved to Hannah's bedside table and rolled his eyes at a framed picture of Hannah and Greg. Beside it was a collection of movie ticket stubs. That didn't particularly interest him, so Jake's green eyes scanned the top of her dresser. He made a face. "Your sister doesn't keep too much incriminating evidence out in the open, huh?"
    "Nope."
    When Jake looked over at Isaac, he saw two scrapbooks, the school yearbook from junior year, and a hot pink photo album in Isaac's hands. There was a satisfied look on his face, so Jake said, "It feels weird to be in here."
    Isaac smiled and shrugged, and Jake followed him out of Hannah's room.
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter 3
     

Terrifically, Terrifying Trauma
     
     
     
    After spending a few days in the hospital, Hannah Ayers was more than ready to leave the place on Tuesday morning. Still, a part of her was worried about exiting the room that had become comfortable. Now she'd be throwing herself into a world that she couldn't remember existing in.
    "…but remember, you don't have to go back to school until you're ready," Patricia was