Night Terrors

by Helen Harper

  I bite my lip. ‘You should have seen the things I saw today. There were dozens of people trying to get to the doctor to get medication to stop the paralysis. Dozens, Dante. A few of them even came to blows.’

  ‘So let them take some fucking pills and be done with it.’ He balls up his fists. ‘This isn’t fair on you.’

  ‘I’m not complaining.’

  He growls, ‘Well, you should.’

  I gaze at him, exasperated. Doesn’t he realise that I’m obliged to help these people? It’s not as if anyone else can.

  He seems to realise my frustration and he lowers his voice. ‘You’re not going to win this battle. You’ll kill yourself before you make the slightest dent.’

  I tilt up my chin. ‘Is this happening in America too?’ Because if it is, he’s right. I’m already defeated.

  He runs a hand through his hair. ‘No. It seems to be confined to this zone.’

  I nod. That’s something at least. ‘We’re the only zone that’s not currently being run by the Department. Is that a coincidence?’

  Dante sighs. ‘I don’t know. But there has to be another way. We need to find out where these dreams are coming from.’

  ‘Actually,’ I say absently, ‘I think they’re from the Badlands.’

  He stills. ‘You suggested that before but you sound sure now. Why?’

  ‘They’re all black. It’s the quintessential villainous colour, just like the Badlands. They also smell the same, like rotten eggs.’

  He reaches out for my hand, intertwining my fingers with his. The gesture squeezes at my heart. Dante has as many – if not more – trust issues than I do. The thought that I’m in this with him banishes a lot of my lonely frustration. He might not be physically capable of doing anything to stop the invading dream monsters but knowing he’s by my side, even if only figuratively, helps a lot.

  ‘You’re tired,’ he says. ‘Going to this meeting will be dangerous.’

  I sigh. He seems hell-bent on telling me what not to do. ‘I have to go. I told you that.’ I fix him with a stern look although I keep my tone light. ‘You’re not my boss.’

  He laughs sharply. ‘That much is clear. I realise I can’t stop you from going. Just…’ He presses his mouth together in an expression which gives him an oddly boyish look. ‘Just take care. I can’t get into that zone while I’m here in America.’

  Translate that as: ‘I can’t come and rescue your sorry arse if you do something to get yourself locked up – or worse – by the Department.’

  I smile. ‘I’m more capable than I look.’

  His fingers tighten around mine for the briefest of moments. ‘Believe me, you look very capable.’

  I lift myself up onto my toes and kiss him on the cheek. I feel his stubble beneath my lips. It never ceases to amaze me how strong the physical sensations are; he’s thousands of miles away and yet I can feel every part of him.

  I drop down to the soles of my feet. My spine judders at the movement and I can’t stop myself wincing.

  Dante stills. ‘What’s wrong?’

  I grimace. ‘My back hurts. It’s nothing serious.’

  His eyes flash with concern. ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

  I think of the long queue at the surgery and shake my head. ‘It’s nothing a few painkillers won’t solve.’

  He tuts and spins me round. ‘May I?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  He carefully lifts up my shirt, his warm fingers tracing over my skin. I shiver. Damn it; do I have to be so obvious?

  ‘There are some nasty bruises here,’ he comments, oblivious to my lust.

  ‘Mmm.’ I’m not sure I’m capable of forming words right now.

  Massaging gently, he avoids the most painful areas. I feel at least some of the tension ease. That’ll help. I rock back on my heels. I could stay here forever.

  ‘It’s almost midnight.’

  I scrunch up my face, glad he can’t see my expression. ‘I should go then,’ I say reluctantly. ‘I need to get to the square.’

  ‘Don’t draw attention to yourself,’ he cautions.

  ‘I’ll be virtually invisible. I’m just a meek little girl; they’ll have no reason to single me out.’

  Dante growls. ‘They’d better not.’

  Chapter Seven

  Inaction breeds doubt and fear. Action breeds confidence and courage.

  Dale Carnegie

  Because I have to make my way from the depths of the forest to the town, I’m almost late. I squeeze into the back of the square just in time. I’ve never seen so many people in the Dreamlands; I recognise more than a few faces but I’m still hazy on most of their names. Some dreamweaver. This is why Ashley is by far the best leader: she knows everyone.

  There are a lot of tense expressions. When I catch some of the whispered comments, I know it’s not just because of the Department’s arrival. All the Travellers are starting to get wind of the sleep-paralysis situation. I frown when I hear someone mention the Bubble. Is that how the Badlands creatures are getting into people’s dreams?

  I’m prevented from asking because silence stills the crowd, from the fountain at the centre to where I’m standing at the back. Frustratingly, I’m too far away to see anything. I crane my neck up and try to catch a glimpse of who’s just arrived. It’s no good – there are too many people.

  ‘Good evening,’ a clipped voice states, carrying across the mass of people. ‘I thank you all for coming.’

  I almost snort. Like we were given any kind of choice. I stop trying to put a face to the voice and settle down to listen.

  ‘Since the unfortunate demise of your Mayor, we have decided that it is only right that we help you get back on track. The Dreamlands are not to be taken lightly and for too long you have been behaving as if all this is just a game. For those of you who have seen the news today, you will know that you are paying for that complacency. People up and down the country are affected because this zone is not being run correctly. We are going to institute proper order to keep everyone safe.’

  I wonder if he thinks his words will soothe the crowd. His blunt tone isn’t helping. All around me I see rigid postures and unhappy faces.

  ‘Why are they doing this?’ someone mutters.

  ‘The Bubble. They want access to the Bubble so they can see into people’s heads,’ comes the whispered response.

  Not everyone is so afraid that they keep their comments hushed. ‘You can’t do that,’ a clear voice rings out. It sounds female but I can’t tell for sure.

  I swear every person stiffens. We all look in the direction of whoever was bold enough to speak out.

  ‘We don’t need you,’ the voice continues. ‘Where is the dreamweaver? We don’t need you when we have a dreamweaver to hand.’

  There’s a murmur of agreement. Several people murmur Ashley’s name. I stiffen. Damn it.

  ‘She’s no dreamweaver,’ the Department man scoffs. ‘She’s not even here. She doesn’t care about any of you. She’s the one causing the bad dreams and the sleep paralysis.’

  How dare he accuse Ashley of that? Everyone knows she wouldn’t hurt a damn fly. I’m obviously not the only person who thinks that. The mutters around me are getting louder; people are pissed off. There was a time, when the Mayor was in charge, that most of the Travellers kept their heads down and let him manipulate them into doing what he wanted. Judging by the mood of the crowd now, that’s no longer the case.

  ‘We have the resources you need to stay safe,’ he continues. ‘We are what you need.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ It’s a different voice this time, coming from closer to me. ‘Where’s Ashley? What have you done with her?’

  ‘I can assure you we have not seen her.’

  That was a different voice. Clearly, the Department was not expecting this kind of dissension. Unlike the smooth, practised words of the previous Department wanker, there was an edge to the second voice. He was lying.

  The anger that I felt before solidifies int
o something far harder. I feel my cheeks turning red and it’s not because I’m embarrassed. Breathing hard, I take a step back. Panic attacks aside, I’ve never experienced such an overwhelming surge of emotion. Dante once told me that taking another person’s life is incredibly difficult, regardless of how justifiable the action may be. At this moment, I’d happily kill anyone connected to the Department for harming so much as a single blonde hair on Ashley’s head.

  I focus on my breathing exercises to bring myself back under control. Almost unconsciously, I start pinching the tips of my fingers rhythmically. I tilt my head back to gulp in fresh air and, as I do, I catch sight of a head on one of the rooftops. So the Department is still using that vantage point for their archers to keep an eye on us. I commit the face to memory and swing round to see if I can spot anyone else. With my attention diverted, I miss the arrival of the outlier. It’s not long before I hear him, however.

  ‘Excuse me! Excuse me!’

  I stare in the direction of the new voice. Whoever he is, he’s a tall fellow so it’s easy to pick him out. That and the fact that he’s stark naked. An outlier; at least one of them isn’t being plagued by sleep paralysis.

  When I first apparated in the Dreamlands, Dante mistook me for an outlier. It happens a few times every week. Someone stumbles into the Dreamlands by accident. They’re not Travellers like everyone else, they just happen across the pathway in their unconscious minds that brings them here. As far as they’re concerned, what they experience is nothing more than a dream; in fact, they’re likely to wake up with zero memory of their visit. I don’t think any outlier has ever appeared twice.

  The man seems determined to get to the front. The crowd, which is used to such appearances, parts to let him pass. To block his way might cause an argument or, worse, an actual fight. That’s not a problem for the outlier because he doesn’t have the conscious awareness that the rest of us have. Essentially, we can get hurt but he can’t.

  The bonus is that his nudity provides some much-needed levity. There are plenty of nudged elbows and titters. The Department won’t like that, I think. It’ll loosen its hold over the people in the square even more.

  The outlier makes it to the centre. For a moment or two, I see nothing more than the top of his head then he swings up onto Dean Salib’s statue with his hairy bits swinging around. He favours us with a grand toothy grin and launches into a remarkably tuneful version of ‘I Will Survive’. I start to smile, just as a movement to my left catches my eye.

  By the time, I realise what it is, it’s already too late. There’s the thwack of a bow and the outlier looks surprised. He stares down at the blossoming red around his chest. ‘I’m not that bad a singer,’ he croaks, before falling backwards and disappearing.

  The crowd freezes then someone starts to boo. Within heartbeats, another person and another join in. Soon the square is filled with the hisses and catcalls of almost thirty thousand people ‒ and they’re all directed at the Department.

  While the reaction makes me happy, I’m concerned about what the Department is planning to do about it. I look back at the rooftop, scanning for the archer. When I see him notch another arrow, my heart lurches up to my mouth.

  ‘Get out of here!’ I shriek. It’s pointless: my words are swallowed up in the chorus of boos.

  I run. I’m no longer the weak arse who can’t get over a fence, not here in the Dreamlands. I spring round the fringes of the crowd and leap, grabbing hold of the window ledge on the first floor of the building. I’m going to be too late, I think, panicking. I’m not going to be able to stop him. I swing my legs up and jump again, pulling myself onto the dark thatching. Before I can fling myself in the archer’s direction, however, there’s a loud screech followed by a strange, flapping noise. I feel the house underneath me shaking. A huge shadow appears, covering almost the whole of the square. That’s when the screaming really begins.

  It’s a fucking dragon. A huge, black cloud of a dragon. It screeches once more.

  The archer changes his aim, pointing his bow upwards and letting loose an arrow. It bounces harmlessly across the dragon’s body. There are other Department members doing the same thing from the other rooftops. They don’t all have bows; I spot two handguns and at least one rifle. Were they planning to fire into the crowd of Travellers? The thought makes me feel sick.

  Their focus is now on the dragon. They fire repeated shots at it but nothing seems to affect it.

  The people down below are in full-blown panic, running in all directions to get away. Although the streets leading from the square are now crammed, and I can see lots of Travellers who have enough control of their minds to disapparate at will winking out of existence, there are still too many people here. Either they don’t have the ability to disapparate or they’re in too much of a panic to consider it. Either way, this is going to be a bloodbath.

  I don’t think about it. I draw myself back, storing power in my hamstrings, then burst into a sprint. I fly into air and latch onto the dragon’s clawed foot. It screeches again and tries to shake me off. I ignore the stares of the dark-suited men standing by the fountain. That makes four Department heavies on the roofs and five below; I’m betting there are still more cowering around. They certainly aren’t doing much to stop the damned dragon.

  I pull myself upright, keeping a close hold of its leg. It stretches its neck a few times, snaps its jaws and tries to pull me off but it’s not limber enough to get close.

  ‘You should try yoga!’ I yell.

  Apparently unimpressed at my suggestion, the dragon beats its wings harder and starts to rise into the air. Alarmed at how quickly we gain height, I abandon my grip temporarily in favour of pushing upwards and scrambling across the heavy, dull scales onto its back. Despite my confidence at being able to move with speed and dexterity here in the Dreamlands, I still almost fall off. My head swims with nausea as the dragon rolls from one side to the other. I won’t be able to cling on for long.

  The scales are thick and like armour; this dragon’s been built for battle. I search around desperately for a weak spot as it wheels round the sky. Its wings stretch out on either side of me, dark, leathery things. I wonder if I could damage one in some way to force the dragon down to the ground but it’s too risky.

  Screeching once more, the dragon swoops downwards. I fall forward and am forced to curl my fingertips underneath the scales to stay on. As it passes next to one of the taller buildings, I finally get an idea. At the very least, it’s an opportunity for me to get a weapon.

  I loosen one of my hands and stretch. I’m not sure whether this will work, in fact there’s a very real chance I’ll plummet to the ground. I grit my teeth and will my body forward. I have to do this.

  Unfortunately, the dragon catches sight of a potential target, wheels round and dives in on her as she runs for cover. The movement is so swift that I’m too terrified to scream. The target, a young woman called Mary who I know, hears the dragon’s roar and makes the mistake of turning. The second she sees the dragon bearing down on her, she freezes. I squeeze my eyes shut as the dragon’s terrible jaws yawn open. Dear God. It’s going to swallow her whole and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  There’s a sudden crackle and I feel the hard body beneath me jerk and abruptly change course. I open my eyes in time to see a young boy, surely no older than eight or nine, staring upwards and shaking with anger. Inexplicably, his hair is blue. His eyes meet mine for a split second before he looks away, then he raises one hand and points towards us. The dragons shrieks once more and swerves right. This time, it gets close enough for me to do what I need to do.

  I ignore the sharp metal of the coxcomb and yank hard. Two tugs and it’s free. Thank heavens for the old-fashioned nature of the Dreamlands town – because now I have an iron wind vane in my sweaty palms, with a toothless cockerel perched on the top.

  ‘North, South, East or West?’ I shout. ‘Because it doesn’t matter which way you go, you’re dogmeat.’ And I slam the
vane under one of the dragon’s scales. Not a moment too soon, or the Traveller below would have been chomped.

  The dragon jerks upwards, screaming. It spirals higher and higher as I work the cockerel’s iron head deep into its body. Abandoning all thought of a quick, tasty, human Traveller meal, it goes into a frenzy. Its tail whips from side to side and its wings beat even more frantically. Air rushes past my face as the dragon makes a beeline for the Badlands. Oh shit.

  It picks up speed. For a moment, I’m tempted to let it carry me straight into the grubby cloud but that means leaving behind the Department – and Ashley. Not to mention really pissing off Dante. Although I know I’ll need to enter the Badlands at some point, I’m not stupid enough to go in without being armed with some foreknowledge. My old cautious self is good for something at least. But with the border fast approaching, I’m going to have to work out a way to get back down to the ground ‒ ideally without any broken bones. I need the river.

  I jam the weather vane further into the dragon, wiggling it to the right. It has the intended effect and the dragon angles itself to the right.

  ‘Just a little bit more,’ I urge, trying again. ‘Just to the river. I’m sorry about the yoga comment.’

  The dragon screeches and I feel it vibrate and shudder. Twenty metres. Fifteen. Ten. Five. Come on. The moment I feel its muscles bunch as it tries to steady itself and head back towards its destination, I let myself drop. I tumble through the air, aiming for the river and not the hard ground. I stretch out my arms like a champion diver; three seconds later I’m in the water, my fingertips scuffing the river bed.

  Even though I landed in the water, it still hurt. I kick hard, willing myself back up to the surface as my lungs start to burn. When my head breaks free, I see the ox blinking at me in surprise as the current grabs me and takes me away, pulling me backwards.

  A splash of water smacks me in the face. I start to choke and my arms flail around. I hear a shout just as my fingers find the end of the rope that’s been flung in my direction. I manage to grab onto it, praying not to let go as it’s pulled in towards the bank. Eventually, spluttering and soaked, I hit dry ground.