The Dream Hopper (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 2)

by Shawn Mackey

  The soldier knelt over me, checking my pulse for signs of life. As he opened his mouth to say something, the woman sprang upward and swiftly aimed her pistol under his chin and pulled the trigger. She fumbled on top of me, tried to pick herself back up, but lacked the strength. I pried the gun from her hand and pushed away the new corpse. She clawed at me with her fingernails, slashing at the cuts on my stomach, as though she wished to use the last of her strength to make the most minor of my wounds severe.

  With the chaos cleared, I regained my senses, and before I could fully process my surroundings, I realized the woman next to me was the dreamer. Her wounds suddenly seemed less critical, though the situation still dire. I needed to patch up the both of us. Getting onto my feet wasn’t as difficult as moving once I was up; it felt like I was carrying around a few extra loads. As I moved across the field, where the bunker used to be, I noticed the woman slowly crawling in pursuit.

  I limped away from the savage woman, neared the crater, and noticed a massive compound in the distance—blocked by more tall barbed wire fences. Fortunately, the entrance was wide open. If I could get inside and lock up, perhaps I could reason with the woman in exchange for medical supplies. I had no faith in the plan, but it was the only feasible option besides leaving her to die. Even that seemed implausible. She’d probably barrel through the gate and tear my lungs out.

  The woman continued to crawl, making significant progress compared to my increasingly slow gait. She was much better off than me, despite the gaping hole in her chest. I tried to apply pressure to the gash in my side. The blood stopped trickling, and despite the lingering pain, I had no doubts regarding my persistence in this damned dream. I would sadly see it through to the end.

  The lock and chain were still attached to the gate. As I sealed myself inside, the woman started screaming. She rose to her knees, then her feet, and proceeded to lumber toward the compound. I made sure the lock was secure and took a few steps backward. She snarled and threw herself against the entrance, yanking the chain and cursing me.

  I went inside the compound and watched the woman from the door’s window. She wasted no time clipping away at the fence. My brief advantage was already beginning to diminish. I searched the hallway for anything pertinent to survival, medical supplies, or weaponry. The rooms were mostly vacant besides messy piles of loose papers and folders. The essentials were likely in another part of the building. The hall branched off in three different directions. A sign marked SUPPLIES AND QUARTERS on my right seemed the best course.

  The first room was the doctor’s office, full of glass cabinets of pills and other medicinal bottles. The bottom drawer of one of these cabinets held a load of bandages. I used tape and scissors from the desk and applied them to my wounds, heedless to the notion of disinfectants and painkillers. I just needed to prevent my guts from spilling out.

  Rather than employing subtlety and stealth, the woman burst through the compound entrance. From down the hall, I heard her shuffling feet, and with a pair of scissors in hand, I carefully peered out the doorway. She lumbered down the opposite side, leaving a crimson trail in her wake. I wasn’t sure how to proceed, so rather than sit idly or go for the kill, I slipped behind her and hid in the initial hallway. A few seconds later, I heard the click of a gun, a rifle of some sort by the sound of it. I sped down the middle hallway and searched for a hiding spot. I’d be an open target outside, and without the means to defend myself, I could only stow away and hope for a fortunate turn of events. Besides, I didn’t want this to end in violence. Perhaps her rage would subside with time.

  The door at the end of the hallway led to a stairway. I opened it in time to avoid an incoming bullet, which slammed into the concrete wall and ricocheted. The next shot pierced the door and tore open my pant leg. I rushed down the stairs as a spray of bullets barraged the door, shattering the glass window. Racing down the long flight of steps, my eardrums felt like they were going to burst from the tremendous echo.

  The stairs led to a steel door marked EMERGENCY in bold red letters. It was unlocked, though the interior was nearly pitch black, lit only by a large console next to another door marked EXIT. The console screen showed a crude map of the compound outside, as well as the surrounding field. Besides a few select locations, mainly buildings, the most distinct marking was the cannon. The console had hundreds of buttons, too dark to distinguish from each other. My fingers hovered above them, unsure of which to press. When the door swung open, I jammed my hands onto the board and managed to hit them all. The room lit up, revealing the woman, rifle aimed at me, and various smaller consoles. Seated at one of these consoles was a corpse, pistol still in hand, and dry brains leaking from the gaping hole in his skull.

  The woman let out a shriek, barreling across the room and slamming the butt of her gun into my cheek. She pressed a few buttons on the console, dashed to the next, and did the same. I stood up in a daze and stumbled toward the stairs, slamming the door behind me. I wiped the blood from my split cheek, scrambling up the stairway, the woman’s muffled screams coherent enough.

  At the top of the stairs, I heard the door swing open. She was as fatigued as me, but her anger gave her the extra boost that ensured my inevitable capture. I managed to stumble into the armory, but not without leaving a long trail of blood. A shot rang across the hallway, followed by an enraged banshee cry and the echo of footsteps. The weapon storage door was still open. I went inside, closing the door behind me, frantically searching for some sort of blockade.

  The room was a treasure trove of armaments. I pushed a large crate of ammo against the door and hoped it would hold. A barrage of fist blows and an incoherent scream confirmed a temporary respite. I searched the shelves for a decent weapon, only to become overwhelmed by the amount of firepower. In the small lamp-lit room, more like a janitor closet in appearance, I was surrounded by enough to outfit an army.

  First, I put on the Kevlar vest, which had adorned a mannequin between the rightmost shelves. The top of these shelves were packed with guns and boxes of their corresponding ammo. Various knives and sharp goodies occupied the bottom shelf, as well as a box of pineapple grenades. I snatched a blade similar to the one that had pierced my abdomen earlier and two grenades, though I was a bit nervous about the latter.

  Then I loaded up the only side arm with a holster and attached it to my waist. I assumed the vacant spot on the top shelf had held the woman’s rifle, so I picked the one next to it. Though I was far from a gun aficionado, the rifle was probably the same model as hers. I loaded it up and packed the extra rounds in my belt.

  A bullet smashed into the other side and ricocheted down the hallway, followed by a soft snicker. All my weapons couldn’t make up for the disadvantage. To suffice, I would need to resort to drastic measures. I pushed aside the crate, pulled the pin on one of the grenades, kicked open the door, and hurled it down the right side of the hallway. Upon hearing the woman cry out, I bolted to the left, reaching the other end of the hall as the grenade exploded.

  Another door and another set of stairs. This time they went up. I sprinted up the steps with a fresh burst of energy. At the top, I peered down the stairway and saw the woman limping through the doorway, hair wild and face covered with soot. She looked at me, teeth bared like a rabid animal, and fire blindly upward. The bullet hit the railing next to my arm. I pulled the pin on another grenade and tossed it downstairs, then bolted through the next door.

  I was on the compound’s roof. The quiet gave me a moment to ease my mind. The surrounding field was now a bay of massive cannons. Unlike the paltry artillery from earlier, these were more akin to city-levelers than mere fireworks. The barrels were wide enough to fit houses, and a single round was likely more than enough to level the compound. Fortunately, they were all pointed to the north.

  As the ground began to rumble, the woman kicked in the door. Before I could even turn in her direction, she fired a bullet into my chest, sending me hurtling to the roof’s edge. The Kevlar prevented the sho
t from piercing my vitals, but the skin around it had been torn and bled profusely. I flipped to the side, taking the next round right above the elbow. As she neared, preparing to fire again, I pulled out my side arm and shot her in the stomach. She reeled backward, dropping the rifle and spewing a wad of blood and saliva. It dripped down her chin as she collapsed to her knees. I had my rifle aimed inches from her head, maintaining steady hands despite my draining strength.

  The woman took the knife from her ankle strap and lunged at me. I fired my gun. The bullet passed through her throat, shooting hot gouts of blood. She let out a guttural choke, still moving for the deathblow. The blade narrowly missed my face, instead slicing deeply into me scalp. She was once again lying on top of me, convulsing but breathing, our blood mingling in an already large pool.

  I pushed her away, thinking she had lost the will to fight for at least a moment, but the woman had enough strength to stick her knife into my thigh up to the hilt. I pulled it out and stuck the blade through her palm. When she reached with her other hand, I grabbed her wrist and placed it against the cement rooftop.

  I proceeded to hammer each finger with the butt of my side arm. She shrieked as the knuckles shattered like wet rock under the pressure of a jackhammer. Blood gushed from under her fingernails and trickled onto the newly formed puddle. After mangling the hand, I stuck the barrel of the gun into her throat. Her torn lips and broken teeth formed a red smile and a disgusting gurgle that was unmistakably laughter.

  She moved the knifed hand with enough force to pierce the side of my neck with its tip. I clutched the wound and, unable to stay on my knees, succumbed to the overwhelming wooziness and collapsed onto my back.

  The sky went utterly white, and for the briefest moment I thought it was death. The white lights scattered into a hundred different directions, then thousands, then millions, then billions, then disappeared. A few seconds later, a high-pitched screech burst my ear drums. A large cloud whizzed across the sky, covering every inch of blue with a luminescent paleness. Next were the freezing winds, cold enough to numb my wounds and chill my bones.

  A rainbow poked from the white sky and slowly descended. At the tip of this colorful beam stood a white-haired woman dressed in a suit of silver armor, head adorned with a winged helm. Her stony countenance gazed forward as the rainbow arched toward us. I propped myself up by the elbows for a better look. She was moving at an incredible speed. Despite the profound beauty and grace, the long spear at her side made me a bit nervous. I inched backward at a crawl, no match for the armored woman’s blinding approach.

  She leapt from the rainbow and glided onto the rooftop. The woman’s glare couldn’t tarnish her beautiful face. Her beady eyes and pursed lips only made those pristine white cheeks seem more tender. I reached out to touch her, managing to brush the tips of my fingers against her sandaled feet. She kicked away my hand and moved her attention toward my fallen foe.

  The bloodied woman was no longer bloody. She rose to her feet with the assistance of the newcomer. They clasped hands, smiled, and stepped over the rooftop’s edge and onto the rainbow. As the women ascended, the dreamer peered over her shoulder, her stern face a match for the other. With a sudden wink, she blew me a kiss and rose into the white sky.

  Chapter 10:

  Red Rain Over Bloody Musings

  I found myself under the awning of a small brick building, watching red rain pour from the red sky. The small group next to me was too distracted to notice my sudden appearance. A young woman ran toward us, screaming and begging for her life as the others encouraged her to run. She sprinted through the mud, slipping a few feet from the small shelter. A young man, roughly her age, reached his arm out and stepped forward. The others seized him immediately, their combined strength barely able to hold his flailing body down. The girl lifted her muddied face from the ground, raised her hand and reached out to the group, then weakly curled her fingers just before going completely still.

  The four people wept, their arms tightly wrapped around the despondent man in a group embrace. Baffled, I assumed the rain had killed the girl. Consumed by curiosity and tempting fate, I decided to cup my hands under the rain. I drew them back and inspected the red water. Other than the color, I noted nothing unusual.

  The rain poured so heavily from the sky it obscured my surroundings. As it started to clear, I saw that the house was situated in the middle of a muddy field, tinged red from the rain water.

  The group gradually calmed when the precipitation ceased. I stood back a few steps, nodding with a slight smile as one of them finally made eye contact with me. He was quite old and didn't reciprocate my good will. He tapped an old woman on the shoulder and went into the house. The others tended to the girl's corpse.

  “Are you new?” she asked.

  “What?” I stammered.

  “I'm sorry, but I don't get to visit the town often,” she said. “They usually send another fellow by the name of Hank. Do you know him?”

  “Well,” I said, unable to concoct a suitable lie. “I'm new.”

  “What do you need?”

  “I'm really sorry about your daughter,” I said. She shook her head with a frown.

  “That's my grandson's girlfriend. I didn't know the poor girl very well, but his loss is my loss. She was coming back from town. Are you sure you're from around here?”

  “Okay, let me be honest,” I said, feigning a smile. She was still frowning. “I don't know what you're talking about. There isn't any shelter for miles, and with the coming rain and all, I figured I'd sneak here until it ended.”

  “You'll want to head east,” she said, pointing at nothing. It was red mud for miles. “There's a town. They usually welcome strangers. We've had too many bad experiences. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave us. I have a grieving family to attend to.”

  “One more question,” I begged. She walked inside, slamming the door without as much as a glance over her shoulder. With a curse, I headed in the direction she had pointed.

  I was up to my ankles in mud. Even with a pair of heavy boots, the wet dirt seeped into my jeans. I trudged through the wasteland, unable to grasp my surroundings. The sky remained a deep red, almost crimson, despite the rainfall's end. After only a few minutes of travel, my legs were already weary. I was about to give up when I found myself on top of a steep hill. Below, people wandered around a few scattered houses. I slid down the hill, rushing toward this tiny community in the hopes of finding answers.

  They all seemed to notice me simultaneously, wasting no time lining up side by side. Emaciated and armed with rakes and sharpened sticks, they were more pitiful than threatening. I was careful not to quicken or slow my stride; showing weakness or intimidation was a sure way to incite a conflict. Despite being vastly outnumbered, I doubted they would stand a chance against me. These poor souls were more skeletal than human.

  “Who are you?” the man in the center shouted. He seemed to be the oldest, judging by his long gray beard and wizened countenance. I held my hands behind my head and continued to walk.

  “Just passing through,” I replied.

  “How did you survive the rain?” the old man asked. We were about twenty feet apart. It seemed like a good enough distance to stop.

  “Hiding,” I said, my hands still behind my head.

  “There's no place to hide,” another shouted angrily. The rest growled menacingly at his outburst.

  “That house way back,” I said. “They were kind enough to give me shelter.”

  “Liar!” the angry man bellowed, stepping forward. The woman to his right gripped his shoulder. He snarled and stepped back.

  “What Hank means,” the old man said. I pegged him as the leader, or at least chief spokesman. “That family doesn't harbor strangers under any circumstances. So I ask you again, and hope this time that you're truthful: How did you survive the rain?”

  “I'm not looking for trouble,” I said. Before I could elaborate, the sound of running engines in the distan
ce set everyone into a panic. Hank pointed at me and growled at the woman next to him. She paid him no heed and fled into one of the nearest houses.

  Six of us remained outside. Judging by their weaponry, ranging from sticks to a rusty hammer, these were probably the defenders. From the east, three jeeps raced toward the community. The men circled around me, eyes filled with fury.

  “You brought them here,” Hank said.

  “I don't know what the hell you're talking about,” I said. He pointed his sharpened stick at me. I was tempted to break it in two.

  “You're going to answer for this,” the leader said harshly. “We'll know in two minutes if you're telling the truth or not.”

  The jeeps slowed down and came to a stop in the town's center. They were each packed with three green-haired men dressed in black, decorated in various tattoos and scars. Scrawny as they were, these people were well fed compared to the townsfolk and armed to the teeth. They had knives and clubs.

  They gathered around us, each one smiling wickedly. The tallest, armed with a huge mallet, walked straight up to the town leader and stopped at his feet. They stood like this for quite some time.

  “Where do you keep the water?” the newcomer asked. There wasn't an ounce of hostility in his tone, but his mocking grin made it apparent.

  “We're willing to share, as long as you're willing to leave. We don't want trouble,” the leader said.

  “How about this,” Hank growled, jutting his stick against my neck. “You get no water. If you don't leave now, we'll kill your man. If you're lucky, we'll send him back to you.”

  The gangly man responded to his threat by smashing his mallet into Hank’s cheek. He then lifted the weapon high above his head, bringing it down on his skull. The newcomers broke out into obnoxious laughter as he wiped the bits of brain on the dead man's shirt.

  “We don't negotiate,” he said. “And he isn't one of mine.”

  “There's no water here,” the town's leader said. The tall man stared him down. Neither blinked nor breathed.