I see her face for the first time, and it’s enough to paralyze me. Because I know her. I saw her mere hours ago in the Nightmare.
Stranna is the Spore girl.
The Spore girl I killed, who then came back to life and rode on the back of a saber-toothed tiger with me and stabbed me between the eyes. She’s right here. It’s the same girl who saved me from the fire.
Zaff slams the butt of the rifle into my ribs, and I jerk inward, curling against the pain. He turns back to Stranna. I don’t know what he’s about to do next. All I know is I’ll die to keep him from doing it.
I roll to all fours, brace myself, then launch myself through the air. I tackle Zaff and get one hand around the barrel of his gun. He’s a big man. He boxes me in the side of the head, and my vision goes black.
I strike out blindly, hit something. It hits back. I want to yell at Stranna to run but she’s asleep. She’s trapped in the Nightmare.
Zaff shoves me, and I roll to the ground, limp and fading. I use what little voice I have left to appeal to the one person who might have some humanity left inside them.
“Clark, let her go,” I croak. “Please. You can have everything else.”
“Take the girl inside,” Zaff says. Clark looks between the two of us.
Please, I mouth.
He turns his back to me and walks to the warehouse. Becca bursts out, screaming, “Daddy! Daddy no! Uncle Zaff! Wait!”
Zaff pauses for a moment. “Clark?”
Clark stops his retreat. “Yeah?”
Zaff levels the rifle against my forehead. “Plug Becca’s ears.” There’s a far off flump.
I close my eyes tight and wait for the impact—wait for the end.
A gun hammer cocks.
I flinch at the thud of metal on skull. I open my eyes and manage to scoot away as Zaff collapses face-first into the dirt. Clark stands behind him, the butt of my pistol in his hand.
He knocked out Zaff.
Stranna lays in the dirt a few yards from me. Becca bends over her. I struggle to my knees. “Thank . . . thank you. I—”
“I don’t want your thanks,” Clark growls.
Then he steps over and slams the butt of the pistol into my temple.
I wake to sniffing. Something wet is at my ear. I twitch, and a creature lopes away from me, startled. I breathe in dust before I blink in my surroundings. Before comprehension comes my brain whispers: something’s wrong.
I sit up with a groan, but my left arm buckles beneath me. My shoulder is in agony, and I can’t seem to breathe. A headache stronger than the fires of Mount Doom slams behind my skull.
Low moonlight. The heavy silence of night. I manage to get my bearings. Dirt. Desert? All around me. There’s desert in Tenebra?
Then I spot a dark form next to me. Stranna lies huddled on her side. The exposed part of her face is scraped and crusted with blood streaks.
I’m not in the Nightmare. I’m still in the Real World. Still awake. Tire tracks surround us. I’d recognize them anywhere: The Fire Swamp. It’s stolen. Gone. There is one set of footprints—tennis shoes.
Clark.
He opted not to kill me or Stranna. His daughter got through to him. I can’t say I’m thankful he dumped us in the desert. That’s merely choosing a slower death for us. But it’s a second chance. He took my offer that he could have everything else literally.
I squint at the sky, and my sluggish pounding head struggles to piece it all together. We’re maybe an hour away from dawn. The Nightmare will come for me.
After that, I’ll have one more Awake.
Just one.
I don’t see how I can save Luc’s father now. I’ve been stripped of anything of value. No truck. No phone. No revolver. Not even my belt. Just my T-shirt and jeans. I stick my hands in my pockets and am surprised to encounter a crinkle of paper.
My time card, my folded map, and my pack of gum. Two sticks left.
Small blessing.
I pop a stick in my mouth and close my eyes at the burst of flavor. It distracts my body from the pain for a moment. But the chewing reignites the burn on my face from Zaff’s bullet. I need to get it together and figure out what to do next.
A spread of brown taints the dust beneath Stranna. I don’t know why it catches my eye, why it sends my heart galloping. But then I realize.
It’s blood.
Dried blood.
“No!” I scramble over to her. My shot arm collapses beneath me. I turn Stranna over and find the source. It’s from her calf. A gunshot. There’s another one in her back. She’s not bleeding anymore—it’s clotted. Why would Clark shoot her? She’s been asleep in Tenebra this whole time. It makes no sense . . . until I think about the location of the wounds.
