The Nightmare Virus, page 13
I’m such a dummy. I thought being public—being vulnerable in live videos—would build trust and take people on the journey with me. I thought it would gain respect for Nole’s work and show people I was picking up his torch.
Instead it’s put me in more danger and tainted his entire memory.
I should have left the soot on my face.
I hop out of the truck into shadows. Always shadows. Always night. I miss the sun. Tenebra may have “daytime,” but it can’t replicate nature. It is limited by man’s imagination, which is a far cry from the creativity of God. No matter how bitter or resistant I am toward Him, I still know He gets the credit.
I haul open the storage door to the sight of a dozen five-gallon gas cans. Two are empty from the last time I came here. I empty four straight into the tank of my truck and then load the remaining six into the bed. Then I collect the last of my food supply.
It’s not much. A few boxes of pasta that make my mouth water just looking at them. A bag of potatoes that have gone to seed. Some canned beans and a jar of peanut butter come along too—the self-control I had to enact to keep myself from eating these a long time ago is a thing of the past. I unscrew the peanut butter and take a huge scoop out with my fingers. I allow myself ten whole seconds to savor it, then I haul the contents into the cab of the pickup and bid the storage unit goodbye, along with what’s left of Mom’s furniture and belongings.
I’m tempted to leave the door open or the key somewhere for someone to access if they need to, but I might need to come back someday. So I lock the door and pocket the key.
By now, some of the clouds have moved on, and the moon seems to shine on me like a spotlight.
I climb into the cab of the truck, start the engine, and press down the clutch. A prickle runs down my spine, and I look up.
A man stands in the narrow space between storage units, illuminated by moonlight.
He blocks my way out, a rifle aimed at my head.
“Get out of the truck,” the man with the rifle shouts. “I want the real cure. The one you swallowed.”
So it begins. He thinks I sold him a vial of olive oil while I kept the real cure for myself. Does he even spare a moment to wonder what I’d gain from that? Absolutely nothing.
“Get out of my way,” I respond with as much gusto as I can. Unfortunately smoke inhalation has turned my voice into a wheeze. I’m not sure he even hears me.
He takes aim with the rifle. “Have it your way.”
I duck beneath the dash, but he doesn’t fire. Instead the truck shakes. I peek out the back window to see another man tossing my last six gas cans out of the bed of the truck.
“Hey!” I pop open my glove compartment and pull out Nole’s handgun. It’s a revolver with six bullets and six chambers. Why Nole ever thought this was cool is beyond me, but at least I know how to use the thing.
I aim through the window but can’t make myself shoot. This isn’t a dreamscape. I can’t blame my actions on heightened emotions. I don’t want to kill. Again. Especially when it’s someone who paid me their life savings for a failed cure.
The man throws a fourth gas can over the edge, still oblivious to the fact I have a weapon. I drop the barrel and shoot low. The glass shatters, and the man falls over the edge of the truck bed with a cry. I aimed for his leg, but there’s no telling if that’s what I hit. The rifleman shoots, and the windshield explodes in a shower of glass. I pop up and aim with my revolver, but he’s nowhere in sight. I glance out each window and catch movement in my side mirror.
The man yanks at the door of The Fire Swamp.
Stranna.
I shoot a wild bullet his way in the hopes of deterring him. He ducks, but then pulls on the door again. Even though I locked it, the frame is weakened by the fire. It won’t take much more—
The door tears out of the wall so suddenly the man loses his footing. I shove the truck into gear. It jumps forward as I let off the clutch too fast, but it works in my favor because the man isn’t quite able to mount the wheel well to enter The Fire Swamp.
We crawl forward, and I shift into second gear. The exhaust belches a burst of black smoke, but she gets her wheels under her, and we pick up speed. I take the corner around a line of storage containers too sharply, and one scrapes along the side of The Fire Swamp until it catches on the door gap and tears off a piece of siding.
I don’t stop.
The rifle goes off again, and something slams into the side of the truck.
I don’t stop.
He yells profanities and shoots again, running after me with an awkward gait.
I don’t stop.
I lumber over the curb, drive through one of the barrier gates, and make it to third gear once I’m on the road. I finally reach a speed that can’t be overtaken on foot. I drive with my eyes level with the steering wheel in case another bullet comes from behind. When I glance at the clock, my heart jolts stronger than a rough shift to fourth gear.
5:53 a.m.
Seven minutes until the Nightmare comes for me. I drive as fast as I can to put some distance between me and the storage units. The guy and his pal got some gas cans out of their attack. Hopefully that will mollify them.
I get onto the freeway, dodging the few stalled cars abandoned in lanes or on the side of the road. There aren’t that many, but there are enough to make me nervous. Anyone could be living in those cars. Or dying in them.
A look at the clock. Three minutes.
I take an exit onto an overpass that bends high into the sky over the other freeways and keep to the center lane as much as I can so it’s harder for anyone on the ground to spot me. With two minutes left, I stop the truck there and leap out. For a moment I think of putting the remaining two gas cans somewhere safer—like the cab or even the living room—but if someone wants to steal them or mug me, they’ll have nineteen hours to figure out a way to do it. No lock or key will stop that.
I lumber into The Fire Swamp to check on Stranna. She’s on the floor now, cushioned by the blankets I placed there, face smashed into the base of the couch. I ought to put her back on the couch, but I opt for a quick letter instead. I want her to wake knowing she’s safe.
You’re safe with me. If you’re still in the Nightmare Tunnels keep moving forward. There’s light at the end. You can escape the Tunnels into a dreamscape. Once you get out of the Tunnels, ask to see Crixus, and then ask for Cain. Or Icarus.
I upend the couch and cram it into the doorframe until it’s jammed so good it’ll be a feat to get out, let alone in. That’ll have to work for now, but at least it’s a barrier against the elements and the curious.
Nightmare mist creeps in and I barely manage to crawl up the ladder into the loft. As I collapse on the mattress, my last thought is that I didn’t get to eat my pasta.
“Fate seems to favor you, Cain.” Luc toasts me with an earthen cup of something liquid.
I’m getting faster at mentally adapting to Tenebra when I wake. The Real World fades almost instantly. I don’t know if that comforts or frightens me. I’m more bothered by the fact that I thought of this place as Tenebra instead of the Nightmare and of myself as waking up instead of falling asleep.
“Last I witnessed, I’d stopped your heart,” he says.
“You stopped it? How?” I push myself to a sitting position.
Luc rests on several cushions. Every time I see him, he’s smaller, paler, weaker. He gestures to a locked box in front of him. “I have a theory on how to send someone back to the Old World. I tested it on you.” He grins. “You were burning to death, right?”
Definitely. But somehow I survived. And not because of Luc. Because of someone else. Someone in the Real World. Why can’t I remember?
“How nice to have someone to test it on,” I say drily.
“You were dying anyway.” He shrugs. “Now I can make some tweaks to it.” He sips, seeming amused. He doesn’t ask how I survived, probably because he knows I can’t quite recall or put it into words.
“What happened after my heart stopped?”
“I waited for your form to fade. It usually takes some time, but you didn’t fade. After a few minutes your heart started back up. You must have a strong will.”
Even with the mental fog, I know it had nothing to do with my will. “So, my body laid here until I woke up just now?”
“No. You were unconscious. Once a person goes unconscious in either world, there’s little anyone can do from either side. The mind has shut off—it can’t awaken in the Old World or in Tenebra until it’s ready. Your body remained here until you woke in the Old World. Then it disappeared. That’s how I knew you survived.”
The more I learn about this place, the more I realize I don’t know. Luc seems to have studied all the rules and has all the answers. I suppose since he’s been here almost from the beginning of the virus, he’s had plenty of time to learn. A tinge of respect grows in me for what he’s had to overcome to survive. I wonder what he’s had to fight.
What he’s likely had to kill.
Which brings me back to what happened the last time I was in the Arena. The girl—the Spore. I killed her, and Crixus handed me my citizenship to Tenebra.
Citizenship through murder. What does that say about the other citizens of this place?
Luc continues to sip his drink, watching me. He doesn’t seem quite as confident as before. I can feel the pressure of a question hanging between us, held back by his force of will.
I speak first. “I’m still going to help your father.”
He seems to relax and sounds more young man than Emperor. “Really?”
“Tell me what I need to know.” He thinks I’m doing him a favor. But I’m doing it for me.
I murdered a Spore girl. I’ve doomed hundreds of people in the Real World with my cure. I’ve become a villain there. But in here, I still have a chance. I want to do something right. Helping Luc save his father against the attack of the Spores seems a good place to start.
Finding a working cure will undo all I’ve destroyed.
But at this point, I’m no better than Hex Galilei. And I’m determined not to die that way.
A knock sounds on the door. At Luc’s acknowledgment, Crixus steps in, bringing the usual stench of sweat and blood with him. Luc’s nose wrinkles.
“Do you ever bathe, Crixus?”
At least it’s not just me.
Crixus just grins. “I have Cain’s final citizenship papers.” He holds a scroll tied with a strip of cloth. I forgot the ones he gave me earlier were temporary. Like a driver’s permit.
Now I get the license.
“Very good.” Luc takes the scroll over to an ancient desk against the wall and unfurls it. He lights a candle and drops some wax onto the bottom corner of the scroll, then presses his ring into it.
Now it’s stamped with the Emperor’s approval.
He gives it back to Crixus.
“Thanks,” I mutter. “So now I can walk through the coliseum fire?”
“As long as this scroll is in your belt, yes,” Crixus says as he holds it up.
“And as long as you have permission to leave,” Luc adds, ensuring I remember who’s really in power here.
“There’s also Tenebra clothing for you in the taberna.” At my raised eyebrow, he elaborates. “The clothing stall in the Macella Quarter.” Crixus holds out the scroll. “Just show the shopkeeper your papers. They should be your size.”
“I don’t want to dress like some Roman actor,” I say. “My noxior costume is ridiculous enough.”
“And I don’t like to pay taxes, but that’s part of life.”
Taxes? Those things followed us into Tenebra? I take the scroll, tucking it into my pocket.
Luc pulls a leather portfolio from a cabinet and tosses it on the table. Then he sinks onto the couch as though his recent actions taxed him. Again, he seems weaker. It makes me think of Mom. And that’s when I connect it.
His body above must be sick. That happens, even to people in LifeSuPods. They catch colds or the flu or have an asthma attack, and it still gets to them here in Tenebra.
He gestures to the portfolio. “Study these.” Inside are ancient, crinkled, stained papers, but when I spread them out, the contents are quite modern. Floor plans, security details, and road maps of New York. Why bother having the facade of old parchment?
“My father’s in a high-rise here.” He taps at a space on the map. It’s not too far from Somnus University, actually. “Where are you and your truck located, Cain?”
“I’m on the road.” I think that’s right. Or am I still at the university?
He leafs through the papers and tosses another one in front of me—a map of my city. He points to a spot on the edge of it.
“If you can make it to this warehouse, there should be fuel inside. As long as it hasn’t been compromised.”
I stare at the map, but my brain doesn’t comprehend much. Something tells me this should be familiar, but it’s like trying to recall details of something that only played in the background.
“Focus, Cain!”
“I’m trying,” I growl.
University. Warehouse. High-rise. I try to set the routes and locations to memory. He’s offering me a fuel-up, but how do I know if his sources are safe? The best way to conserve gas is to ditch The Fire Swamp altogether, but it’s the last bit of home I have left with Mom and Nole gone.
I grab the papers and move to put them in my pocket before I realize I won’t be able to take them with me.
Luc walks me through potential routes. “Once you get to my father’s LifeSuPod, you’ll find the new address inside my father’s suit-breast pocket, tucked inside his handkerchief.”
“Your dad’s wearing a suit in a LifeSuPod?”
Luc waves a hand. “Why not sleep in style?”
Okay, whatever. Weird.
“The new location shouldn’t be more than a quarter hour from the high-rise, so plan accordingly.”
In other words I need to find Galilei immediately so I have enough time to complete this job. “And that secret address is where I’ll find my LifeSuPod?”
“Precisely.” He eyes me shrewdly. “Don’t think you can double-cross me, Cain.”
“I won’t.” What does he think I’m going to do? Leave Galilei to die and claim the LifeSuPod for myself? That’d leave us all without any hope.
“Sir.” Crixus steps forward.
Luc shifts his eyes over to Crixus. “What?”
“I see a lot of potential for failure. Cain could get robbed, he might run out of gas, the warehouse may not have fuel . . . shouldn’t there be a backup plan? I still wonder if fixing the power to the high-rise is a better option.”
“You’re repeating yourself, Crixus.” Luc levels his centurion with a glare. “What was my response the first time?”
“I thought perhaps you’d reconsider.”
Luc waves his hand again. “Go train the new noxiors.”
“Sir.” Crixus bows in submission and leaves the room. Poor guy, only trying to help.
“What do you think, Cain? Want to try to restore power to the high-rise?”
“It’s a good idea, less complicated. But I don’t have that skill set. That would have been my brother, Nole. And I couldn’t guarantee that any power grid patchwork would hold. The Spores could just cut it again.”
“Precisely.” Luc gestures back to the parchments. “This new location is safe only because it’s unknown. Out in the middle of nowhere. Off-grid. Solar and wind powered.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And you’re trusting me with the details?”
“Trust is an interesting word when desperation is involved.” He locks the parchments back into the cabinet. “But you’ll keep its location to yourself because that’s where your physical self is going to be as well. Whoever you tell would become someone who would know where and how to kill you.”
“Clear enough.” We sit across from each other in silence for several minutes. We aren’t friends and we certainly aren’t going to be. This feels more like a dangerous business partnership where we both know exactly what we have to lose and what we have to gain. Once I complete this job for Luc and am either cured or in my own LifeSuPod, our interactions will be over.
I need to start building a life for myself in the Nightmare. In Tenebra. At least until I can track down another Spore and figure out how they control the Nightmare and the how and why of their ability to reenter the Real World. Until then, I might as well start using Luc’s terms and playing his game.
“So what do I do while I’m in Tenebra? Buy some land? Build a house?” Already I miss my truck and tiny house. Whatever I build here will likely be carefully controlled since the dreamscape is only so big. I doubt they’ll let me build anything on wheels.
“You don’t build. Not with your talent.”
“Talent?”
“With nightmist . . . you create.” He gestures to my kris dagger.
“So far I’ve made wings that disappear after a few seconds, a half-constructed spear, a dagger, and a chain rope. You think nightmist can make a house?”
Luc spreads his arms. “How do you think this coliseum was built?”
I look at the stone and only now realize what my mind has been neglecting. Nothing in Tenebra is actually tangible except in our minds. The foundation had been laid by the Draftsman who created the original virus, yet Luc figured out the loopholes of this ever-growing and ever-spreading virus. Nightmist and nightbeasts are all new. All created by the mind.
If he was able to figure out how to create when he’s not the Draftsman, then I can too. “If this coliseum was made by someone’s mind, what happens if that person dies?” If I build my own house, will it disappear if I get killed?
“It depends on their roots.” Luc lifts his boot, and thick roots retract from the floor of the room into his boot like snakes. “The more you ground yourself in Tenebra, the more permanent your creations are.”
