Survivor in Death Reading

Survivor in
Death
By Nora Roberts
Prologue
A LATE-NIGHT URGE FOR AN ORANGE
FIZZY SAVED NIXIE’S life! When she
woke, she could see by the luminous
dial of the jelly-roll wrist unit she was
never without, that it was after two in
the morning.
She wasn’t allowed to snack between
meals, except for items on her
mother’s approved list. And two in the
morning was way between.
But she was dying for an Orange

Fizzy!
She rolled over and whispered to her
best friend in the entire galaxy, Linnie
Dyson. They were having a school-
night sleepover because Linnie’s mom
and dad were celebrating their
anniversary in some fancy hotel.
So they could have some “alone
time.” Mom and Mrs. Dyson said it
was so they could have a fancy dinner
and go dancing and crap, but it was to
be alone! Jeez, she and Linnie were
nine, not two. They knew what was
what.
Besides, like they gave a woo. The
whole deal meant Mom—the Rule
Monster—bent the rules about school
nights. Even if they’d had to turn the
lights out at nine-thirty—were they
two?—she and Linnie had the most
stupendous time.
And school was still hours away, and she was thirsty. So she poked Linnie and
whispered again.
“Wake up!”
“Nuh. Not morning. Still dark.”
“It is morning. It’s two in the morning.” That’s why it was so frosty. “I want an
Orange Fizzy. Let’s go down and get one. We can split it.”
Linnie only made grunting, mumbling noises, rolled away, and tugged the covers
nearly over her head.
“Well, I’m going,” Nixie said in the same hissy whisper.

It wasn’t as much fun on her own, but
she’d never get back to sleep now, thinking
of the Fizzy. She had to go all the way
down to the kitchen because her mother
wouldn’t allow her to have an AutoChef in
her room. Might as well be in prison, Nixie
thought, as she scooted out of bed. Might
as well be in prison in 1950 or something
instead of her own house in 2059.
Mom had even put child codes on all the household AutoChefs
so the only thing Nixie or her brother, Coyle, could program was
health sludge.
Might as well eat mud.
Her father said, “Rules is rules.” He liked to say that a lot. But
sometimes he’d wink at her or Coyle when their mother was out
and order up some ice cream or potato crispies.
Nixie sort of thought her mom knew and pretended she didn’t.
She tiptoed out of her room, a pretty little girl,
just going gangly, with a wavy mass of platinum
blonde hair. Her eyes, a pale, pale blue, were
already adjusted to the dark.
Still, her parents always kept a low light on in

the bathroom at the end of the hall, in case
anybody had to get up and pee or whatever.
She held her breath as she walked by her
brother’s room. If he woke, he might tell.
He could be a complete butt-pain. Then
again, sometimes he could be pretty chilly.
For a moment, she hesitated, considered
sneaking in, waking him, and talking him
into keeping her company for the
adventure.
Nah. It was sort of juicy to be creeping
around the house by herself. She held her
breath again as she eased by her parents’
room, hoping she could stay—for once—
under her mother’s radar.
Nothing and no one stirred as she crept

down the stairs.
But even when she got downstairs, she
was mouse quiet. She still had to get by
Inga, their housekeeper, who had rooms
right off the kitchen. Right off the target.
Inga was mostly okay, but she’d never let
her get away with an Orange Fizzy in the
middle of the night.
Rules is rules.
So she didn’t turn on any lights, and snuck through the
rooms, into the big kitchen like a thief. It only added to
the thrill. No Orange Fizzy would ever taste as frigid as
this one, she thought.
She eased open the refrigerator. It occurred to her,

suddenly, that maybe her mother counted stuff like this.
Maybe she kept a kind of tally of soft drinks and snack
food.
But she was past the point of no return. If she had to pay
a price for the prize, she’d worry about paying it later.
With the goal in hand, she shuffled to the far end of the kitchen
where she could keep an eye on the door to Inga’s rooms and duck
behind the island counter if she had to.
In the shadows, she broke the seal on the tube, took the first
forbidden sip.
It pleased her so much, she slipped onto the bench in what her
mother called the breakfast area, and prepared to enjoy every drop.
She was just settling in when she heard a noise and dived down to
lie on the bench. From beneath it, she saw a movement and
thought: Busted!
But the shadow slipped along the far counter, to
the door of Inga’s room, and inside.
A man. Nixie had to slap a hand on her mouth

to stifle a giggle. Inga had a boogie buddy! And
she was so old—had to be at least forty. It
looked like Mr. and Mrs. Dyson weren’t the only
ones having “alone time” tonight.
Unable to resist, she left the Orange
Fizzy on the bench and slid out. She
just had to look, just had to see. So
she crept over to the open door, eased
inside Inga’s little parlor, and toward
the open bedroom door. She squatted
down on all fours, poked her head in
the opening.
Wait until she told Linnie! Linnie would be
so jealous.
With her hand over her mouth again, her

eyes bright with laughter, Nixie scooted,
angled her head.
And saw the man slit Inga’s throat.

She saw the blood, a wild gush of it. Heard a
horrible, gurgling grunt. Eyes glazed now, she
reared back, her breath hissing and hitching into
her palm. Unable to move, she sat, her back
pressed to the wall and her heart booming
inside her chest.
He came out, walked right by her, and out the

open door.
Tears spilled out of her eyes, down her
spread fingers. Every part of her shook
as she crawled over, using a chair as a
shield, and reached up to the table for
Inga’s pocket ’link.
She hissed for emergency.

“He’s killed her, he’s killed her. You have to
come.” She whispered the words, ignoring the
questions the voice recited. “Right now. Come
right now.” And gave the address.
She left the ’link on the floor, continued to crawl

until she’d reached the narrow steps that led
from Inga’s parlor to the second level.
She wanted her mommy.

She didn’t run, didn’t dare. She didn’t
stand. Her legs felt funny, empty, like
the bones in them had melted. She
started to belly crawl across the hall,
sobs stuck in her throat. And to her
horror, she saw the shadow—two
shadows now. One went into her
room, the other into Coyle’s.
She was whimpering when she
dragged her body through her
parents’ bedroom doorway. She
heard a sound, a kind of thump,
and pressed her face into the
carpet while her stomach heaved.
She saw the shadows pass the doorway, saw them.
Heard them. Though they moved as if that’s what
they were. Only shadows.
Shuddering, she continued to crawl, past her

mother’s bedroom chair, past the little table with its
colorful lamp. And her hand slid through something
warm, something wet.
Pulling herself up, she stared at the bed. At her

mother, at her father. At the blood that coated them.

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Survivor in

But she was dying for an Orange

“Nuh. Not morning. Still dark.”

“Well, I’m going,” Nixie said in the same hissy whisper.

Might as well eat mud.

Still, her parents always kept a low light on in

Nothing and no one stirred as she crept

She eased open the refrigerator. It occurred to her,

A man. Nixie had to slap a hand on her mouth

With her hand over her mouth again, her

And saw the man slit Inga’s throat.

He came out, walked right by her, and out the

She hissed for emergency.

She left the ’link on the floor, continued to crawl

She wanted her mommy.

Shuddering, she continued to crawl, past her

Pulling herself up, she stared at the bed. At her

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