I’m still reeling: I’m in a dreamscape. Meaning this place was designed. It’s not a mutation or a virus. It’s intentional. Even the Tunnel. I try to reconcile the revelation, but as quickly as it came so does a fuzz in my mind that mutes any clarity of thought.
I can’t seem to think outside of this cage. This moment. It’s like my thoughts as well as my body are confined. I strain for my Real World knowledge and survey the man in front of me, scanning for fantasy hair or unnatural bone structure. Anything to clue me in to what sort of blueprint was used for his design.
He wears more weapons on his body than an armory display, most of which look ancient. A short sword hangs at his side and a dagger is tucked in his belt along with a strap holding spiked spheres that look like a cross between grenades and medieval mace heads. No guns.
“I’m not an enemy,” he says to me, sounding almost bored.
“Let me out,” I growl, my emotions bringing me back to my present predicament.
“If I do, you’ll be killed.” He has yet to look up at me.
Is that a threat? “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Not by me. That cage is for your own safety.”
Right. A Nightmare human covered in weapons locked me in a cage for my protection. He finishes his scribbles, and I now see it’s no tech pad but an old piece of parchment, nailed to a thin slab of wood.
He waves to his fellows. Only then do I realize the Vetters have hauled a cage cart into view and have loaded six of the captives into it. They direct the cart to the third cage.
“Where are you taking them?” I ask as the next three climb into the cart like mindless sheep.
“Somewhere safe.”
I shake the bars, and the wood snickers with amused creaks. “Give me specifics!”
“Ooh, a curious Anger. You’re an interesting mix. It brings a nice balance, actually. The last Anger who got out of the Tunnels throttled two of my fellow Vetters before we could cage him.”
The idea of throttling this guy sounds rather appealing. But my desire for understanding is greater—it always has been. Someone used to call it my greatest strength. My memories strain. Who? Who do I know? Who said that? I shut my eyes, irritated by the lack of clarity.
No one . . .
No. That’s not right.
No . . . le.
Nole. Nole said it. My brother. He said my curiosity led to resourcefulness. Mom said it would get me killed. Now Nole is dead, and I’m caged by a Nightmare stranger.
Mom was always right.
Focus. My memories of Nole and Mom dry up like waterdrops on hot asphalt. This guy’s a dream avatar. Trying to logic with him isn’t going to get me anywhere. His responses are programmed. If I want to keep surviving, I’ll follow his directions until I can wake up again and sort through all of this with a mind that’s not saturated in heightened emotions.
The man sighs. “Look, I was caged, too, once, okay? Right where you are—same Tunnel actually. Except I was a Fear—that emotion got the best of me for a long time. In here your emotions are going to be stronger. Deadly. Better get a hold of yourself. It’s going to be a rough ride to the coliseum.”
Coliseum? The only encounter I’ve had with one was seeing the original Colosseum on a screen in Gladiator. I roll my eyes.
“Thanks for the warnings.” I know better than to trust anything out of his mouth.
“The name’s James. And I’m no avatar.” He gives me an annoyed look. “Skepticism is written all over your face. You might as well know, I’m infected . . . like you.”
I back away from the bars. “A real person?” Not a creation of the Nightmare?
“I’m as real as they come. Born in Chicago. Will probably die there too. My infection finalized about a week ago.” Finalized. Ended. No more time awake.
He’s talking about another life—another life I’m a part of but can’t seem to grasp for more than a few seconds.
“It’ll get easier to remember your old life,” he says. “Easier to forget it too. It’s up to you.” He’s here in the Nightmare until his physical body deteriorates. But how can he be in here if we didn’t fall asleep in the same dream batch? How can he be in Chicago and me in New York, yet we’re both here in the same dreamscape?
A headache throbs behind my temples from the strain of clinging and clawing to the little details I can remember from real life.
That’s impossible, isn’t it? No one has even created a dreamscape stable enough to support more than 100 visitors. But this Nightmare . . . it’s infecting the entire world.
“Let’s go.” The cart rolls up to my cage and lines up its door to mine. James unlocks it and it swings inward.
I don’t move.
“Don’t make me force you.” James lifts a long rod from the bench seat of the cage cart. “I poke first with a stick. After that, it’s a gladius.”
I eye the weapon on his belt. Gladius. Defiance wants to plant my feet firmly on the ground and make him unsheathe his half sword. See what he’ll do if I don’t budge. But curiosity is king in my mind. I want to unravel this puzzle, and the only way to learn more is to cooperate.
So I move—purposeful and powerful—before the stick or sword tip can use their voices. The other nine people—the Fears—scoot aside to make room for me in the cart. It’s a tight squeeze. No one makes eye contact. All seemed subdued. Nervous. Scared. Are they real too? They don’t act like avatars. If James is telling the truth, they are infected like me, and they managed to escape the Tunnel.
“Look at that, you’re already starting to tame.” James slams the door. “I half expected you to kill these ones.”
The others in the cart cage whimper and scoot farther away from me, then farther away from each other. The cart sways from their movements, its wooden wheels creaking.
“I’m not going to kill you,” I mutter. I may be battling enhanced waves of tension and fog brain, but I haven’t lost my humanity.
I sprawl on the cart base. It’s nothing more than a cage, secured to a flatbed wagon, and I still have a full view of our surroundings. One other Vetter yokes a horse to the front of the cart. I’m not sure if it’s the dim lighting or the horse’s actual color, but its coat is coal black. Not shiny like a sleek stallion but stained and matted and so dark that I can hardly follow its movements through the shadows. Its head hangs low, and it hardly reacts to human touch. I think it’d be perfectly content dying where it stood.
