Brainstorm (THE BLOOD-DIMMED TIDE Book 1)

by Jeff Siamon

  His nerves were jangled. His defenses down. But not so much so that he didn’t notice another shadow move across the roadway. He looked up in time to see a pair of head lights farther down the road. The high beams of an oncoming vehicle. From the height of the beams, a truck of sorts. How he knew to dive away from the road, he never could answer. The truck just seemed like another passing vehicle. But he did leap. A heart beat later, the truck struck the rear of his car, flipping over it and crashing upside down on the other side. Instantly, it burst into flames. After several more heart beats, his own car succumbed to the flames.

  He was on the ground now. Spread eagle. He closed his eyes on the intensity of the flames. The next instant, the two cars exploded. The concussion hurled him away from the road. When he struck the roadside fencing, he passed out.

  42

  Water trickled by his ear. That was the first sensation he had when he regained consciousness. He listened for a moment. It was a muted sound. The longer he listened, the more it seemed like it was water flowing in a creek or stream. But since his ears felt as if they were stuffed with cotton, he imagined it was just the ringing in his head from the explosion.

  He moved first one leg. Then the other. They were sore but not broken bone sore.

  Finally, he opened his eyes. His sight was greeted with the strands of vegetation. Grass by the feel of it. Wet grass.

  He sat up and glanced around him, expecting to see what was left of the vehicles. All he could see were trees and the occasional bush. The sky was dim but not black. There was no glow of moonlight. That made him think he had been unconscious all night. Funny no one had stopped and found him. The area by the side of the road wasn’t that wide that he couldn’t be seen.

  Carefully, he got to his feet. He still felt nothing was broken. Two sore arms. (As well as the wrist with the damn cast.) And a back that would be begging for physiotherapy by evening. But otherwise intact.

  He turned to what must be the roadway since he didn’t see it in the direction he had been facing. He could see nothing but the dim shadows of more trees. Had they come and removed the vehicles and somehow missed him? That seemed impossible.

  A few steps confirmed that he was reasonably okay. He kept walking. At any moment he expected his feet to land on pavement. Only after he had gone dozens of steps, there didn’t seem to be a road in sight. Just trees and bushes. He stopped and turned in the other direction. Of course, he was disoriented. He probably had a concussion. That’s why he couldn’t remember anything after the explosion. And he was walking in the wrong direction. But before he could go back the way he had come, his feet slipped away from the ground he was standing on and he slid down a shallow embankment.

  When he stopped moving, his ears cleared. He realized what he had heard as a trickle of water was actually a fast-flowing river. And his feet, now no longer on the ground, were dangling in that river.

  He scrambled to the firmness of the bank. Then up its sides to the level ground he had come from. Now he seriously looked around. There was no road to be seen anywhere. No boundary fences. Just trees. Bushes. And the twinklings of some fading stars. The sky had become a little lighter. He looked over his shoulder from where he had crawled. It was a path and judging by the growth above, an animal not a human path.

  Take a moment to consider, he told himself. Was this another episode or had he wandered far from the roadway in a stupor caused by a concussion? He felt his head. There were no lumps. No sensitive areas. Yet he certainly felt disoriented.

  He scanned his surroundings again. Trees, bushes and more trees. He was in a forest. And with that realization, he felt better. The conservation area. That’s where he was. In a concussive daze, he had walked deep into the forest after he had awoken. But his relief only lasted a few breaths. Until he remembered what had happened. The invasion. The dream girl. And Vicky! How was he going to explain what happened to her? To anyone.

  The sky was definitely lightening. His feet were soaked and his body sore as hell. He had to find the road. But which direction to go? There was a glow in the sky. It must be the sun poised to rise. Having determined that, it still didn’t give him much confidence in which direction to go. That is ─ not until he noticed another glow through the trees. Much brighter and in a different direction. He didn’t have long to wait to determine what this glow was. From its intensity, it could only be the sun.

  Then what was the other glow?

  He turned towards it. It was faint and now he noticed that its color flickered. A flame! The burning vehicles. That was it. He started to run in that direction. Why they would be burning after all this time wasn’t a question he asked himself. Not until he had run the length of a football field and had to stop to catch his breath. The glow was brighter now. He could even smell something burning. It was odd, he realized, that the vehicles should still be on fire. Some passing motorist would have seen them by now. Fire trucks would have put out the flames by now.

  His thoughts didn’t go any deeper. He began running again. Logic wasn’t his concern. All he wanted was to reach the road and somehow get back to his place. A hot shower, fresh clothes and strong coffee. That’s all he wanted. If there were no one at the scene, he’d try to hitch. And if he couldn’t get a ride, then, he’d walk. And as for invasions, shadows, episodes ─ they damn well better not be any.

  He covered another football field. Definitely a fire. The sky was more lit up now. The sun rising to his right. Flakes of ash were sashaying down from above. He thought he even heard the faint roar of flames. He stopped to listen. My god, he thought. The explosion has set off a forest fire. It was a good thing he had wondered off.

  His pace slowed as he continued on. He knew it wasn’t a safe thing ─ running towards a fire. But that was only way to get back to the road. Hopefully, there’d be a way around or through the fire. And certainly firefighters to fight the blaze.

  A fallen branch tripped him in mid thought. He hit the ground with a heavy thump, his cast absorbing some of the shock. Out of breath, he rolled over on his back. His wrist began to throb. Would he ever see the end of this injury? he asked himself. The sound of rushing footsteps stopped him from coming up with an ironical answer. Animals running from the flames? Best to lie low. Which he did, rolling over on his belly in case he had to move suddenly. Likely deer, was his thought. At least not a herd of elephants, he mused in an attempt at humor.

  The rushing sounds died away. He stood up. There was more smoke now. He tried to cough it away. He went several steps when a crackle of branches warned him to look out for another beast. But not in time. A body struck his and once again, he fell heavily to the ground. On alert now, he sprang to his feet. The impact felt like a bear or some other large beast.

  It wasn’t a bear. A person on the ground was in front of him. It, too, jumped to his feet.

  “Hey,” Connie called out. The person didn’t answer. Just continued running away from him. “Hey! You there!”

  Connie couldn’t tell if the person was a man or woman. At least not by the long hair that streamed behind the fleeing figure. But from the impact, probably a man. What the man was dressed in seemed familiar. By the time he reached the cause of the fire, what he saw through the flames was not the edge of the highway. It was some sort of village. Huts and wooden buildings ablaze. And the sight removed any doubts he may have had of what the man was wearing. A tunic. Like had seen before. But just to be sure that his doubt didn’t waver, a shadow darkened the scene. Just briefly. Long enough for Connie to get a whiff of the thing’s presence. This was another episode.

  His eyes were burning from the smoke. He wiped away his tears. As his vision cleared, he saw figures through the smoke and flames. Moving figures. Trying to rescue people? Or put out the fire? He couldn’t be sure which.

  Without thinking of his safety. Without considering what he saw was real or imagined, he dashed towards the figures. Flames leapt at him from both sides. Their heat was real enough. To his right were the burning
remains of what must have been a hut. To his left were stacked logs that would never reach a fireplace.

  He saw a woman running after a child who, in its panic, was heading directly into the flames. The woman was too far behind the child to catch it. Connie was closer. Dodging some burning material, he dove at the child. Both crashed to the ground a few feet before the child would have been consumed. In another instant, the woman arrived. She scooped up the child and ─ turning back from where she had come ─ raced to safety.

  The heat was so intense, Connie could feel it singeing his hair. He coughed himself to his feet. Then followed the woman. Several bodies ran past him in the same direction. One nearly knocked him over. Then fell to the ground. A few other bodies ran by them. None stopped to help. Connie did. It was an old man judging by the white in his hair and beard. Connie managed to lift the man to his feet but when he tried to continue on, the man didn’t move. Flames were advancing towards him. Connie dragged him for several feet then stopped when the man went limp. They would never make it to safety at that pace. Lifting him up didn’t prove to be a solution. With his injured wrist and sore back, he didn’t move any faster.

  He put the man down while keeping one arm around him. “Hey! You got to keep going, old man.” Connie had to shout over the roar of the fire. The man gave him the blank look of fear. Connie tried to smile it away. “Come on! You can do it.” He wasn’t sure if the man heard him or not. The man looked back at the heart of the fire. Then at Connie. He said something but Connie couldn’t make any sense out of the words. The man nodded and began to walk. Connie urged him into a brief run until the flames were far enough behind them. Then he slowed their pace the rest of the way to safety.

  Safety was a huddled group of people upwind from the fire. In a clearing that to Connie looked like a farmer’s field. There were neat rows of cabbage-like plants in one direction. Vines growing on low trellises in another corner of the field. The woman and her child were among the group. She still had the child cradled in her arms. Still whimpering but not seriously so. When Connie and the old man came into the clearing, a woman came out from the huddled and put an arm around the man. She was young. Younger than Vicky.

  Connie did a quick head count. At least thirty-five adults. And half as many children. Men ─ most with beards. Women ─ either close by a man or holding onto one or more children. And everyone barefoot and dressed in what looked like night clothes. Longer versions of the tunic the man who had crashed into him wore.

  At first, no one really noticed Connie’s presence. Until the woman whose child he had saved saw him. She was able to pick him out among the shadows of people because of his strange costume. When their eyes met, she smiled at him. He nodded to her smile.

  Others saw the smile and the nod. They, too, noticed Connie’s strange clothing. Connie noticed that their looks were becoming hostile. Except for the old man and the woman with the child.

  He began to back away from the faces. He didn’t need a written invitation to be on alert. The fire was real. So was the feel of the child and the old man. So were their suspicious looks. This wasn’t an illusion.

  It also wasn’t the time for problem solving. To answer the how and the why of these episodes. He remembered the last time he had found himself thrust into what must have been some medieval world. He hadn’t received a heart-warming welcome then.

  And, judging by the people’s expressions, he wasn’t about to get one now.

  He took a few more steps backwards. Several men matched his steps. Behind him was the burning village. What was the use of running? he thought. He didn’t know where he was. Where to run to. “Listen, you people. I don’t mean you any harm.” His only hope was to show them that he was a friend.

  But his hope didn’t prove hopeful. Suddenly, his head felt like it had burst open. The pain continued as he was falling. Lingered for a brief moment after he hit the ground. Then flickered out when he swooned into unconsciousness. This time his concussion wasn’t from the force of an explosion. But from a club wielded by a bearded man.

  43

  It was a choking dream.

  Hands were around his throat. Pressing. Squeezing. He tried to cough up a breath. Tried to grab hold of the hands. But he could neither breath nor securely clutch the hands. For when he breathed, no air went in his lungs. When he tried to grab the fingers, what he felt were wisps of blackness that were not hands.

  It had come to this, his dream self-realized. The thing had finally captured him.

  But when Vicky’s face suddenly appeared before him. Larger than life ─ like the dream girl’s face in the desert. He knew he was dreaming, even if his dream-self was having difficulty breathing. Despite feeling like his dream-self was about to pass out, he took comfort in the knowledge that this was only a dream.

  But then again, the gush of water that struck his face felt too real to be dreamlike. Neither did the face of the man standing in front of him when he opened his eyes. Or the man’s hands holding a wooden bucket.

  Connie would have cried out but getting air to his lungs seemed to be his most urgent need. He lifted his head to relieve the tension he felt around his neck. When he did so, he was able to take a full breath. Then he realized why he was choking. There were ropes around his neck. If he moved, they tightened. Then another realization. It came from a numbness in both arms. They were trussed up and stretched out to what felt like a pole behind his back. His legs were bound as well to a stake that was attached to the pole.

  That’s what he could see when he moved his eyes from side to side and down to the ground. And to round out the effect, his head hurt like hell.

  He pulled on the ropes binding his arms. The ropes around his neck tightened. He pulled again. The ropes threatened to stop his breathing. Shit! he thought. Instinctively, he tensed his muscles. Not that going on alert would do him much good. What was obvious was: If he tried to yank his arms free, he was going to choke himself. If he passed out and hung his head ─ well that was going to be another choking matter. Therefore, the bucket of water. That was one positive sign. They were trying to keep him alive. If playing Jesus on the cross was much of a life.

  The bucket man was watching him with a mixture of anger and fear. At least that’s what Connie thought after he had taken enough breaths to clear his head. His vision was blurry but not so blurry that he couldn’t make out a group of people behind the bucket man. Mostly men by the look of their beards. A few, possibly women. To one side of his vision, he could see images of moving figures. They seemed to be wrestling with some kind of material. Dun in color. And pliable like heavy cloth or leather.

  He tried moving his arms again. The ropes tightened and he gagged.

  That called for another “Shit!” This time out loud. “Hey!” he shouted. The man with the bucket took a step backwards.

  His feet were tied to the stake in an awkward position. It was difficult for him to stand upright and his calves hurt from the pressure. That meant when he slumped, the ropes around his neck tightened.

  Now he should have felt helpless. He was helpless. But as far as he was concerned, helpless would have to wait until his anger subsided. What the hell had he done to these people that they should treat him like this? Why was this thing always pursuing him? Why hadn’t he been taken along with Vicky as hopeless had wanted?

  Answers would have to wait. His body sagged as he tried to find a comfortable position. The sag made him gag. And the gag boiled his fury. That was enough! He coughed out a cry of rage and kicked out with one of his bound feet. Instantly, the ropes broke away as if they were knitting yarn.

  The bucket man gasped and backed up several more feet. The figures behind him cried out in alarm. Swords and shields were raised. Then two archers took center stage.

  All waited for what was to come next. He stared at the men facing him. Still more defiant than helpless. If they were going to kill him, he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear. (Oh ─ he was afraid.) Minutes
passed. Tense minutes. For the men clutching their weapons. For Connie who had to summon what strength he had just to keep himself upright.

  The wind began to blow across his face. Along with it, there was the acrid smell of burnt substances. That brought back the fire. The woman and the child. The old man. He adjusted his body as best as he could so that the ropes around his neck loosened. The archers raised their bows. This was it, he thought.

  And it might have been it. But just as the archers pulled back their bows, a commotion behind them deflected their purpose. From what Connie could see as the knot of armed men parted, two men were dragging a third man towards the group. As they did so, they were shouting guttural words he couldn’t understand. Some of the armed men put down their weapons to help the two men subdue what Connie assumed was their prisoner. However, the archers stayed on alert. Their arrows remained pointed in Connie’s direction.

  As he watched the men encircling the prisoner, he suddenly came to the conclusion he should have realized after he had helped the old man. They assumed he was responsible for the fire. Then he remembered the man who had knocked him down. The sound of footsteps that were likely not animals but the people fleeing who had set the fire.

  The prisoner was now down on the ground. Several men were kicking him. He was crying out as he crouched to defend himself. The flash of a blade in the sunlight told Connie what was about to happen. Only as the sword was about to descend on the prone man, a hand intercepted the blow. He couldn’t see the man’s face. Only his long, silvery hair. Words were exchanged between the two men. There was a brief scuttle ─ more in words than in strength ─ then the swordsman lowered his blade.

  There were more words between the two men. Angry words. Gesticulated words with fingers poked at each other’s chest. After several exchanges, the man with the sword threw up his hands. In defeat or frustration, Connie couldn’t decide. When it appeared that their argument was over, both looked in Connie’s direction. As did the other men around the prisoner.