The Nightmare Game

by Gillian Cross

  He didn’t have to sympathize. Keeping the picture of the tunnel entrance steady in his mind, he pushed the pain away.

  That hurt’s not mine. It has nothing to do with me. All his energy funneled into that single thought, as he focused on the image of the cold, dark earth. There, not here.

  And suddenly the pressure fell away.

  His vision cleared and the pain evaporated completely. For a moment, he didn’t understand what he’d done. Then the realization flooded in, raw and shocking. And with it came the knowledge that he had to go and find Magee, as fast as he could. He had to make him explain.

  Because he was still looking into the same face as before, but the eyes looking back at him weren’t tortured now. They were blank and empty.

  Zombie’s eyes.

  IN THE COLD SPACE UNDER THE GROUND, LORN WAS WORKING FRANTICALLY. It was the only way to keep her mind still and her body warm. But it seemed like an impossible task.

  How could she make the shape of something that her mind refused to picture? How could she share a memory so frightening that her brain shied away from it? She was attempting to conjure up a terror that came in the darkness—but gave shape to the whole world. An all-embracing fear, too big to see.

  At the beginning, she concentrated on the shape itself, working at the great mountain of earth she had collected. But there was no way to make it big enough. Any image that her mind could hold was too weak, too trivial.

  In the end, she understood that she had to work in the space around it, carving out pitiful scraps of space for herself, so that the great, ragged bulk in the center took shape by itself. When she hummed, she could feel its huge mass, blocking the tunnel behind her so that she had to make herself small to squeeze past. It demanded to be seen. To be shown to the others. But how could she make that happen? Her brain knew how to construct pictures out of smells and sounds and the movements of the air, but the others couldn’t do that. They needed light. And if they brought the light with them, trooping down in a line, one behind the other, they would never see what she wanted them to see.

  The people at the front of the line would arrive first and they would have time to get used to the shape she’d built. By the time the others got there, they would be peering and touching and chattering—maybe even laughing. The great darkness she had made would be diluted and lost before they could all feel the shock of it.

  The impact had to be sudden. It had to appear out of nowhere, like a great monster rearing up ahead of them, seen and not seen. Terrifying because they couldn’t understand it.

  That moment was all she wanted. She wanted them to know what she meant when she said, This is what it was like. That’s why the story has to be told my way.

  If she had that, it wouldn’t matter anymore whether she was called Lorn or Hope. Because they would know who she was, deeper than any name.

  If only she could make them see. . . .

  She paced up and down the tunnel, fretting away at the problem. Now she had stopped digging, it was hard to keep warm. Even when she was walking briskly, she had to wrap both fur blankets around her body, very tightly, to stop the shivering.

  But eventually, she realized what she had to do. Eyes were the key to the whole thing. HE had to have eyes. She wandered along the tunnels until she found a length of root that she could hack free with her blade. Carrying it back to the thing she was making, she clambered slowly up the side of the mass of earth, wedging her feet against the stones.

  It was tricky work that took all her concentration. She sang a long clear note, to keep the shapes exact in her head as she drove the jagged root into the earth in front of her. Working it around slowly, she made a hole right through to the other side.

  The second hole was harder. The earth was already loosened and it shifted as she tunneled into it. There was no need for singing now. As she worked the root carefully around and around, she could tell exactly what was happening from the trickling sound of the soil.

  She was almost through to the other side when she heard another sound. It was almost like an echo of the noise she was making—but it was coming from above her head. When she stopped moving to listen, the sound was unmistakable.

  Outside, above the ground, someone was scratching at the earth with a stick. Someone was digging down toward her. Digging into the tunnel.

  In Mortal Dangers

  17

  WHEN HE CAME AROUND, EVERYTHING HAD CHANGED. HE KNEW it before he opened his eyes, from the damp smell of the bare earth around him. From the clammy roughness against his bare skin.

  He had no idea where he was, or how he could possibly have arrived there. The last thing he remembered was being down in Hope’s secret room, struggling to save her from the marauders who had carried her off before. He’d been ready to defend her, to the last drop of his blood.

  What had happened?

  He lay still, struggling to construct an explanation. He needed a theory that would offer him a clear and effective course of action. That was his usual way of proceeding. At every difficult point in his life he had made himself stop andFOCUS

  until he could be sure that he was in control once more. But this time it didn’t work.

  He was very, very cold. So cold that (unthinkably) his mind couldn’t control his body. His eyes opened of their own accord, unbidden, and he saw—

  (It was important to remember that anything he saw might be a hallucination. Even a thing as simple as dehydration could cause severe confusion. . . .)

  He was lying on a rough slope littered with boulders and huge clods of earth. Huge barbed branches arched overhead and beyond them, impossibly far above, were giant treetops, outlined against a darkening sky.

  This can’t be real. He tried to close his eyes again, but his will wasn’t strong enough to control them. His shivering body clamored for warmth and shelter, and there was nothing near him except a few heaps of dead leaves farther down the slope.

  He slithered down toward them, but there was no help there. The leaves on top were stiff and leathery and those underneath had decayed into a wet, stinking sludge.

  FOCUS

  RELY ON YOURSELF

  His teeth were already clattering together. It was vital to get out of the wind and there was no suitable shelter above the ground. The only logical thing to do was dig down into the earth.

  If he managed to dig some kind of trench, he could drag a few of the giant leaves across the top. That would expose the damp under layer and give it a chance to dry in the wind.

  Then he could use it as insulation inside the trench.

  His brain was stirring now, getting a grip on the situation. He still had no way of explaining it, but that could come later, when his shelter was made. Now was the time for action.

  He glanced around, making sure there was no one watching. Then he stood up, bracing himself against the icy wind. The clods of earth were heavier than he expected and he struggled to clear the surface of the ground in front of him.

  (That was hardly surprising, of course. He had sustained a serious shock. There was no reason to worry.)

  Things went faster when he found a dead branch to use as a tool. It doubled as a lever, for moving boulders, and a primitive spade, for scraping at the earth. If he’d had a proper spade, he would have dug down deep and lined the excavation with the boulders. As it was, all he could do was loosen the earth with his stick and then scoop it out with his bare hands.

  His sense of power grew as he bent and lifted, bent and lifted. The work was warming and the trench was soon deep enough to shelter him from the worst of the wind.

  RELY ON YOURSELF

  As he wielded the spade, he could feel himself making sense out of chaos. Taking charge of the situation. Down and down and down—

  And then everything gave way under his feet.

  IT HAPPENED WITHOUT WARNING. ONE SECOND HE WAS PUSHing his stick into the soft, damp earth, trying to dislodge an embedded rock. The next second, he’d lost his footing. He was tumbl
ing through empty space, with loose earth showering down all around him.

  For the first instant, he could see it all—the flying clods, the crashing boulders, and the terrifying hole gaping underneath him. Then he hit the ground, hard, and a bigger fall of earth began, blocking out the light.

  Instinctively, while he could still move, he rolled sideways, away from the collapsing ground. He seemed to be caught in some kind of air pocket, but it was impossible to see anything in the dark. All he could do was lie and listen to the slithering earth over his head as it settled into place. Knowing that he’d fallen too far to have any chance of digging himself out again.

  Was this how he was going to die? Alone in the dark, with no family to take care of his food and clothes, nobody to lift him up and wash his body clean. After all he’d done to look after other people—all the care he’d taken—he was doomed to die on his own, suffering agonies of hunger and thirst. He lowered his forehead onto the cold ground.

  AND THEN A VOICE SAID, “WHO’S THERE? ARE YOU HURT?”

  A second earlier—before he’d let himself think about death—he would have answered briskly, giving directions to the person who had spoken. But he’d allowed himself a fatal moment of self-pity—and the voice had asked a question that caught his weak spot. A question that no one had ever asked him before. Are you hurt?

  The only manly answer was a quick denial. No, I’m fine. Only a scratch. But he couldn’t make himself say it. He was bruised and battered and he’d given in to morbid thoughts of death. He had to clamp his lips shut to stop himself saying, I hurt all over.

  “Please answer me,” the voice said earnestly. “I can tell that you’re alive. Are you injured?”

  How did she know he was alive? He couldn’t even work out which direction she was speaking from. Tightening his lips, he opened his mouth just enough to let out one unsteady word.

  “Cold.”

  It fell into a sudden, terrible stillness. He felt as though the sound of his voice had obliterated the only small part of the world that still remained. He was desperate to hear her speak again, but she didn’t reply.

  “I fell,” he said. Raising his voice this time, to make sure that she heard. He had to clench his teeth to stop himself from shaking. (It was because he was cold. It had to be because he was cold.)

  Still no answer.

  It was unbearable to think that she’d deserted him, that he was on his own again. He began to shout helplessly, panicking. “Please don’t leave me here! Come back! I can’t bear it—”

  He could hear himself sounding feeble. Pathetic. But what else could he do? She was his only hope of survival.

  “Come back,” he yelled again. “Come back!”

  “It’s all right,” she said suddenly. Stiffly. She had been there all the time, in exactly the same place. Her voice sounded forced and cold now, but he crawled toward it, scrambling over the rough earth on all fours because he was afraid of falling. Reaching through the darkness with desperate hands, he tried to touch her.

  “Where are you?” he called.

  “There’s—something between us,” she muttered. “But I’ll push a blanket through. Hold out your hand.”

  He thrust it forward—and grazed his knuckles on a wall of earth and stones. It felt like a malicious trick and he drew his breath in sharply.

  “You’re in the right place,” she said. “Just move your hand a little to the left.”

  She seemed to know exactly where he was. How could she? For a moment he hesitated suspiciously. Then he walked his fingers slowly across the huge barrier in front of him. They came to a space and he pushed his hand into it.

  And touched fur.

  That was the last thing he was expecting. His fingers plunged into warm, silky fur, richer than anything he’d ever imagined. Clutching it firmly, he pulled it through the gap and it fell around his hands in thick, generous folds.

  “Wrap yourself up.” Her voice was brisk now. “Put the fur inside. It’s warmer like that and the leather will keep you dry.”

  It was a long while since anyone had given him orders. He ran his hands over the fur, trying to work out whether she was right.

  “Don’t waste time!” she snapped impatiently. “Just do it! I can hear how cold you are.”

  The fur was big enough to wrap his whole body (what kind of animal was that?) and it was already warm, as though she’d been wearing it herself. After a few seconds, he sat back on his heels, feeling his body relax.

  But she hadn’t finished with him. “You need food, too,” she said roughly. “Hold your hand out again.”

  Something else came at him through the gap. It was a thick, sticky slab, as big as the palm of his hand, without any kind of wrapping.

  “What is it?” he said warily.

  Her reply sounded impatient. “Just eat it. It’s what you need.”

  YOU CAN’T TRUST FOOD FROM STRANGERS, said his brain. But an instinct older than rules made him push one corner of the slab straight into his mouth. It was a stiff, sweet paste, tasting of currants. It wasn’t the kind of thing he would normally eat, but he found himself biting greedily at it, as though he was starving. The stickiness clung to his face and hands and he started to lick his fingers before he remembered how dirty they must be.

  “What is this place?” he said.

  There was a small sound from the other side of the barrier, like a wry laugh. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” he snapped. “I’m not a child. I insist on being told.”

  The only reply to that was another long silence. This time, she was the one to speak first.

  “Don’t you know who I am?” she said.

  How could she be anyone he knew? It was impossible. He was about to point that out when he realized—just in time—that it might be wiser to play along with her. Maybe she’d made a mistake. Maybe she was only helping him because she thought he was someone else.

  He answered very carefully, choosing his words. “You sound—familiar,” he said. There was a shred of truth in that. By some odd coincidence, she sounded a little like his wife. Or, rather, as Lee would have sounded, if she’d had an ounce of energy and initiative. “I’m afraid I can’t quite place your voice. Maybe if I could get through to where you are—”

  “You want to come—here?” she said. With an abruptness that he didn’t understand.

  “I can’t survive where I am. No one could live in a tiny space like this.”

  “Oh no?” There was another one of her odd laughs.

  “But the roof might fall in again,” he said. Trying not to picture the heavy layer of stifling earth above him. “I have to get out of here.”

  This time, the pause was so long that he called out again. “Hello? Are you still there?”

  “I was thinking.” Suddenly, she was crisp and practical. “You can come through here—on one condition.”

  “What’s that?” he said quickly. (What was she after?)

  “You must promise to obey my orders.” Her voice was firm and definite now. “If there are two of us, we’ll need more food and water. I know how to get them, but it won’t be easy. If you don’t do exactly what I tell you, you’ll put us both in danger.”

  That felt like agreeing to walk blindfold along a precipice. He hated losing control of what he did. But there didn’t seem to be any other option.

  “All . . . right,” he said, slowly and grudgingly.

  That wasn’t good enough. “You promise? Absolutely?”

  He shifted uncomfortably, pulling his blanket tighter. “I promise. What do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing yet. Just wait while I make a way through.”

  He heard her hands beginning to scrabble at the earth. Scraping away at the barrier between them.

  18

  HE WAITED IMPATIENTLY WHILE SHE WIDENED THE GAP. SHE talked as though she could see—and that must mean, surely, that it was lighter on her side of the barrier. The light would be dim
and shadowy, of course, but he visualized himself bursting through the barrier and out of his pitch-black prison.

  When she said, “You can come through now,” he scrambled forward eagerly, expecting her to catch hold of his hand and lead him through. But she didn’t make any attempt to touch him. All she did was prompt with her voice.

  “You’ll have to stand up and squeeze through. Yes, like that. Just take a step to the right and then come forward. But slowly. Don’t push at the earth.”

  He inched between two damp, vertical surfaces, feeling the loose soil drag at his blanket. Because he was waiting to see light ahead, he assumed that he had a long way to go. It was a shock to emerge, quickly, into a space dark as the one he’d left.

  “What’s happened?” he said. “Where are you?” His arms flailed around, trying to catch hold of her, but she avoided him easily. He could hear the faint sound of her feet on the earth, but he couldn’t work out where she was.

  “Stop that!” she said sharply. “Stand still and listen to me.”

  Her voice was young, but she gave orders as though she was accustomed to being obeyed. (And she still sounded incongruously like a bossy, dynamic Lee. The coincidence—that was all it could be—was disconcerting.) He wouldn’t be able to take charge unless he worked out where she was, and seized her. And that was what he had to do. She was his only hope of survival, and he couldn’t afford to let her get away.

  FOOLS RUSH STRAIGHT IN

  WISE MEN PLAN AHEAD

  He stopped where he was, in the middle of what felt like a vast empty space. Pretending to play along with her. “I’m listening,” he said meekly. “What do you want me to do?”

  “The first thing you have to do is keep quiet,” she said. “If you make too much noise—”

  The sound of her voice gave him the clue he needed. With both hands out, he darted forward to grab her. And he almost got it right. She was so near that he felt the warmth of her body in the cold air.