The Stuff of Nightmares

by Malorie Blackman

The dead don’t feel pain … Do they?

  Open your eyes, Kyle.

  I can’t. Each eyelid weighs a ton.

  Open your eyes, Kyle. Open them now.

  Slowly I opened my eyes. Train seats stood to attention on either side of me like oppressive sentinels. My heart was thundering.

  Now I was terrified of closing my eyes in case I never opened them again.

  You’re OK, Kyle, I told myself. You can still think, so you’re all right.

  I had to force my eyes shut so I could focus on bedding down the panic ripping chunks out of me. Surely neither Heaven nor Hell nor any stage in between would be furnished with blue-clothed train seats? Or was it possible to be dead and not even know it? I opened my eyes again and this time it was a little easier. My hand flew to my head. No blood, surprisingly, but it hurt like hell.

  ‘Joe? Steve?’ Did I shout that out loud or was it just in my head? I couldn’t tell.

  Where was Steve? Was he OK? I tried to stand but it was hard to tell which way was up. The train lurched suddenly, to come to a juddering halt on its side. And the silence that followed was like nothing I’d ever heard before. Or wanted to hear again. A silence so deep it was as if all my senses had suddenly shut down and each thought rang clear and loud in my head like some enormous pealing bell.

  Someone began to sob. Low, irregular sobs of total terror.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I tried to call out, although I didn’t know who I was talking to and it was such a ridiculous question. I just wanted to hear something besides that sobbing. But my voice sounded cracked and weak and barely above a whisper.

  Someone was groaning now from just behind (above?) me. My eyes were beginning to focus again.

  I tried to stand up, but Steve and Perry were sprawled on top of me and Joe was dangling over the side of one of the chairs. I couldn’t move. I was on my side, with Perry lying over my feet and Steve over my arm and hip, his head dangling down in front of my chest. I couldn’t see Perry’s face but Steve’s … Steve’s eyes were closed and his skin looked almost grey. Drying blood decorated his cheek like a Rorschach ink blot. That’s when what’d happened to us hit me. Hit me hard. I shoved at Steve, close to panic as I tried to shift him. But he didn’t budge.

  I had to get out of here.

  I took a deep breath to brace myself and then pushed at Steve again while kicking my legs up with all my might. This time it worked. Both he and Perry fell off me in a heap. I scrambled to my feet, feeling wrung out and queasy, like being seasick. My eyes were sending duff messages to my brain because everything around me was wrongly orientated and I still hadn’t wrapped my head around it. The opposite train window was now directly above me and the rain was relentlessly washing in. I stood on what used to be the side of the train, between two smashed windows. The chairs that were still bolted down were now on their sides. I bent to try and pull Joe free but it was no use. One of his feet was wedged in the underside of the chair at an impossible angle. Steve’s eyelids were fluttering now, but he didn’t open them. I looked around for help. There was no one. I was the only one standing. My head was swimming.

  ‘Focus,’ I muttered. ‘Just look at something real and focus.’

  So I looked up. Above me, I could see nothing but dark grey sky and rain falling like a shredded curtain through the shattered windows. I let the rain wash over my face. I took one deep breath followed by another before I could trust myself to look around again. Squatting down, I forced myself to take Joe’s wrist so that I could feel for a pulse. I couldn’t detect one but told myself not to panic over that. I was probably checking the wrong part of his wrist. Perry’s eyes were closed but he was groaning softly. Occasionally his eyes would flutter open, only to close immediately, as if the light or the sight was too much for him. I stumbled around, trying to find our teacher. Elena grabbed my leg as I passed her.

  ‘Kyle, help …’ she mumbled.

  I squatted down and brushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘Ellie, are you OK? Can you stand up?’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t feel my left leg.’

  I glanced down. Her left leg was bent beneath her right one, but it didn’t look too bad. Not like Joe’s.

  ‘Is it broken?’ Elena whispered.

  ‘I don’t think so …’ I said. That had to be better than admitting that I didn’t have a clue.

  It was back – that feeling of total helplessness. The guilty, useless feeling that lay just a scratch beneath the surface of my skin. What could I do? I could just about apply a plaster on a cut. That was the limit of my medical expertise. ‘Help must be on the way by now. We’ll all be out of this soon, you’ll see.’

  But then the carriage gave a terrific lurch and dropped at least a metre, slanting down by about twenty or thirty degrees. Doesn’t sound like much, but believe me, it felt like fathoms. Out of control, I skidded away from Elena, trying to stop myself from kicking some poor unconscious woman in the face. I grabbed hold of the luggage rack at my side and swung my legs round just in time. The strange orientation of the carriage was really doing my head in. I stood up slowly, trying not to make any sudden moves that would make the train pitch again. Why had we dropped? It didn’t make any sense. And then, all at once, it did.

  Horrifying, terrifying sense. The train had flipped over all right, but not onto the adjacent track. It had fallen in the opposite direction. Part of the crunching sound I’d heard before had to be the side of the railway bridge being demolished by the impact of the train carriages. Some of the train had to be hanging over the edge of the bridge. And with no barrier to hold us and the train on its side, what was to stop the whole thing plummeting onto the street below?

  That’s when the contents of my stomach erupted up through me like a fountain. I vomited violently, half ashamed of myself for letting fear turn my stomach inside out, but the shame wasn’t enough to stop me retching wretchedly again. The puddle of sick began to slide downwards, following the slope of the carriage.

  And all I could think was, What if the train falls?

  What will happen to me and my friends if the train falls?

  There were a few groans. Someone (Kendra?) was sobbing her way through a bout of the hiccups. A murmur of ‘Help, someone, please help me’ tried to puncture the shocked silence in the carriage. But those words just made the underlying quiet worse. And it looked like I was still the only one on my feet. I had to get out. I had to get my friends out. I had to get everyone out. But how?

  How?

  The windows and doors were either directly below us, lying against the tracks, or directly above, pointing at the sky. How was I going to hoist one person, never mind the whole carriage-full, out of a smashed window at least one and a half metres above me? And even if, by some miracle, I did manage to manoeuvre one of my friends out, the movement might send the entire train tipping over the side of the bridge.

  What should I do?

  I couldn’t just stand here like a waxwork and do nothing.

  To my left there was a middle-aged black woman, a stranger, wedged between the underside of a seat and the floor, although with the carriage on its side it took a few moments to realize exactly where she was. She had a few drops of blood on her camel-coloured coat and her head was slumped forward. I started towards her, only to stop. All around me were people who needed my help. Steve, Joe, this stranger. I felt totally overwhelmed. I didn’t know where to begin, which way to turn. Each view brought new horrors. People moaning. One man was sitting up, rocking, his eyes wide, staring into nothing. Bodies twisted in grotesque, impossible angles. And the smell of rusty nails was getting stronger. Only it wasn’t nails – it was blood. I could see little splashes of red up and down the carriage. Just little splashes … nothing too bad. Just blood from a nosebleed here or a cut head or arm there. Strangely enough, the sight wasn’t so bad, I could just about cope with that. But the smell … that smell was making my stomach heave. I wanted, I needed to shout with anger, frustration.

  Wo
rds erupted from me with a force that immediately made my vocal cords ache. ‘Someone, help us …’

  The coughing fit that followed at least eased the tension in my throat.

  ‘Kyle …’ My name floated towards me, barely more than a whisper. I spun round but could see no one who looked even remotely able to answer me. It had to be the help I’d cried out for, but who was calling me?

  ‘Kyle …’

  There it was again. So soft and quiet it was almost like a thought in my head. But it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t. Unless I was hallucinating. Could I be hallucinating? I made my way back to my friends. What else I could do? Perry must’ve regained consciousness then passed out again because he was in a different position, sitting up, his head leaned back. Part of me envied my friends their oblivion. Perry’s eyelids began to flutter. And his eyes beneath his eyelids were flickering like he was in the middle of REM sleep.

  ‘Perry …?’ I whispered, squatting down. ‘Perry, can you hear me?’

  Perry’s eyes flicked open. ‘Kyle …’ he whispered when he saw me. ‘Are we going to die?’

  ‘No, we’re not,’ I said fiercely. ‘The emergency services will be hacking through the top of this train any minute and they’ll rescue all of us. You wait and see.’

  At that very moment, as if to back up my words, I heard the very welcome sound of a helicopter approaching.

  ‘See.’ I grinned at Perry. ‘I told you we’d be rescued. I told you …’

  But his eyes were closed again and his skin was now the sallow colour of cheap, uncoloured candles. I looked from him to Joe, then Steve. I didn’t like the look of Steve at all. I took a half-step towards him, ready to shake him awake. I didn’t want to be the only one trying to take all this in. I didn’t want to be alone. But my hand slowed, then stilled as I reached out towards Steve. I couldn’t shake him. I might do more harm than good by trying to wake him up.

  Through the window above me I saw an orange and white helicopter overhead, its blades chopping raucously through the air. I’d been right about that at least. Help had arrived at last. I waved my hands above my head, hoping to attract the attention of whoever was in the helicopter. I had to let them know that someone down here was still standing. I needed to know that someone, somewhere, could see me; that I wasn’t the only one going through this. Maybe if I climbed up …

  ‘Kyle, wait …’

  The whispered words came again, so softly spoken I couldn’t even be sure if they came from a woman or a man. Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? Playing silly beggars and messing with my head? I spun round. Who was calling me? It was freaking me out.

  Ignore it, Kyle. Get to the helicopter, I told myself.

  I looked up, but as I watched, the helicopter blades slowed down, their rotation less frantic. Yet the chopper didn’t move, didn’t descend, didn’t even look like it was in any kind of trouble. As the blades slowed, so the very air around me grew thick and still. The slowing down was almost hypnotic. I was having trouble catching my breath.

  ‘Kyle …’ The whisper floated towards me, so faint I could barely hear it. ‘Kyle, wait for me.’

  My head jerked round like a puppet’s but I was still the only one standing in the carriage. That voice … that voice was burrowing inside me. I forced myself to concentrate on the helicopter, only now its blades weren’t moving at all. It sat in the air above the train like some kind of natural satellite. Silence devoured me, chewed me up and spat me out, but only for a moment. The longest moment of my life …

  Then all hell was let loose. Chopper blades and jet planes ripped through the air, machine-gun fire like rapid handclaps surrounded me, as did blast after roaring, deafening blast. I put my hands over my ears to try and drown out the noise but that just made it worse, like the sounds were in my head and my hands gave them no escape.

  ‘We have to get out of here,’ Steve’s voice bellowed from out of nowhere, making me jump. Eyes wide, I looked down at Steve, expecting to see him on his feet, or at least sitting up with his eyes open. But half a glance was enough to see that he was still out for the count.

  ‘Steve …’ I whispered, just in case it was my eyes, not my ears, playing tricks. But they weren’t.

  ‘Incoming!’ yelled another voice I didn’t recognize. Strange how one word could convey so many emotions – so much anger and hatred and, most of all, fear.

  ‘Ohmigod!’ I heard Steve’s horrified whisper. An impossible whisper and yet I heard it as clearly as I heard my own thoughts. ‘It’s coming straight for us. Evasive—’

  A high-pitched, deafening whistle came ever closer. So high-pitched it must surely make my ears bleed. A colossal boom had me diving to the floor. Had the train been hit by something else? No, it can’t have been. There’d been no movement, no judder, no jolt, no fall. But that noise, like a fireworks factory exploding – what was that? I touched a hand to my ears. No blood.

  But in that instant a shock, needle-sharp like static electricity, shot through my body. A rain of images began, images that burned their way through my mind. I squeezed my eyes tight shut but they wouldn’t stop. Strange, unsettling images. Of Steve. And explosions. Steve with a gun in his hand. Steve eating. Laughing. At someone. With someone. Shouting. Running. A pack on his back, an assault rifle in his hand. Steve in some kind of plane, spinning round and down, hopelessly out of control, while he desperately pressed buttons and pulled at the stick. I was in the middle of this rain of images, looking past one to the next, trying to see my way past all of them. Trying to focus on what was beyond. Trying, but failing … My eyelids felt like lead. The images fell faster and faster. So fast now that I couldn’t discern what any of them were. But they were all to do with Steve.

  And then, just like that, the rain disappeared. And the train disappeared. And the track. And all my friends. There was just Steve in some kind of booth. And silence. Where was I?

  Then Steve began to speak.

  But not to me.

  3

  Steve’s Nightmare

  ‘DAD? IT’S STEVE. How are you? How’ve you been?’

  ‘Steve? Steve! How are you? It’s so good to hear your voice. Where are you? Why can’t I see you?’

  ‘Only one of the web-cams is working, Dad. Our division has only just returned to the carrier, so the queue to use it stretches right round the ship. It was use this phone or wait another few days before it was my turn to use the web-cam with a working screen.’

  ‘No, it’s enough just to hear your voice. God, I’ve missed you, son. I’ve been worried sick. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine, Dad.’ Steve smiled again, reaching out a tentative arm towards the blank screen before him. ‘I’ve missed you so much. I just can’t wait to get home.’

  ‘So it’s true? You’re really coming home?’

  ‘The war’s over for me, Dad. Our unit is off rotation. I should be home within the next fortnight.’

  ‘That’s great news. Chris will be thrilled. And wait till I tell Hannah – eh!’

  Steve’s cheeks burned. ‘Dad, stop teasing! Besides, Hannah is probably married with three kids by now. She always said she wanted a big family while she was still young enough to enjoy it.’

  ‘Of course Hannah’s not married. She’s waiting for you. Mind you, if you told her that, she’d laugh in your face, but everyone here knows it’s the truth.’

  ‘Is it, Dad? Is it really?’

  ‘Course it is.’

  ‘Listen, Dad, I can’t stay on the phone for much longer. There’s a time limit on all comms out of this place until further notice. I … I wanted to ask you for a favour though.’

  ‘Go ahead, son.’

  Steve swallowed hard. ‘You’ve met Dean, my copilot. Did you like him?’

  ‘Yes, of course I did.’

  Steve heard the surprise in his father’s voice. He ran a dry tongue over his lips. ‘It’s just that … well, we were shot down while on manoeuvres over—’

  ‘What? You were
shot down? Are you sure you’re—?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Steve interrupted. ‘But Dean … but Dean isn’t, Dad. We had top-secret military information to deliver. We were both told that the data came first – nothing else even made it onto the priority list. Dean managed to eject out of our plane with the data, but when it crashed he broke the rules and came back to rescue me. He saved my life.’

  ‘So what’s the matter with him?’

  ‘He … he was shot while he was dragging me clear.’

  ‘Oh no …’

  ‘Exactly. The bullets kept hitting him but he wouldn’t leave me. And then they shot him with some kind of chemical agent which burned straight through his flesh. He’s lost an arm and both of his legs and his face is severely burned – almost beyond recognition. And he’s not eligible for military aid or compensation because our colonel says he broke the rules and risked our unit and possibly the whole war by going back for me. Our colonel says he’ll be lucky if he isn’t brought up on charges. The army aren’t even going to pay for medical care and proper artificial limbs for him. They keep quoting something about contravening regulations. I know those artificial limbs aren’t much use but at least they’re better than the nothing he’s going to get because of me.’

  ‘Oh my God. That poor boy.’

  Silence.

  ‘Steve? What’s the matter?’

  ‘Sorry, Dad. I was just thinking.’ Steve forced himself to continue. ‘Dean smiles a lot, but deep down he’s terrified and he feels very alone. He has no family, no one to go back to. So I said that he could stay with us.’

  ‘Stay with us? For how long?’

  ‘For good, Dad.’

  Steve listened to the silence that filled the air around him. The unspoken plea echoing though his mind was almost deafening.

  ‘Son, maybe Dean can stay for a day or two, or perhaps even a week, but no way can he live with us permanently.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Steve, use your head. I’ll always be grateful to Dean for saving your life. Always. But we have to face the facts. Dean is a cripple. He’ll need lots of time, care and attention, not to mention money. Our home is too small to have him here permanently and it would cost too much to adapt it.’