The Lucid Dreamer (Dystopian Child Prodigy SciFi) (The Unmaker Series Book 1)

by Casey Herzog

  Dante nodded and accompanied his escort.

  “Sorry for before. I had a bad night. Ask away.” He had been unkind to Roberto, despite the boy’s insistence, and now he felt guilty.

  “Nah, I’ll wait for us to finish our breakfast.” He was looking around suspiciously, not as if he wanted to do something to Dante when they were alone, but as if he was keeping an eye out for someone he didn’t want to meet.

  They crossed from one building from the next, the green grass on either side of the stone path and a few early birds — students — coming and going. It was still early for people to be having breakfast, but Dante guessed that he hadn’t been the only one to stay up all night. A lot of crazy stuff must go on behind closed doors, he thought. Just imagine the amount of abilities all of these people have and what they can do with them.

  “Here we are,” Roberto said as they descended into a passage below ground. It led towards a pair of metal doors with a lot of noise was coming from them. The familiar clatter of plates and cutlery made Dante smile — he hadn’t heard that sound since he was at the community.

  Pushing the doors inwards, they entered another impressive architectural work by the University’s builders. The tall windows of the hall were high up on the walls, almost touching the ceiling. They allowed enough light in to illuminate the entire space without causing an unnecessary glare. Elegant steel tables of both red and blue filled the hall, and there were two extra assigned areas — one for teachers and staff and another enclosed private area. The servers smiled as they worked, picking slices of sausages and bread out of deep trenches and serving eggs beside them. There was also ice-cold orange juice pouring down from dispensers.

  Around fifty students and a dozen teachers were gathered, making the hall seem quite empty. Roberto grabbed a tray and nodded at a server.

  “You’re here early, Rob,” the woman said with a wink. She gave him an extra egg and sent him on his way. “First time?” she asked Dante, and the boy nodded. “Okay. You do eat sausages and eggs right? Some kids forget we’re living in a post-war world. And to think you all have it easy,” she continued, making Dante feel frustrated. I just want a bite of food, lady. “When the war began, the University didn’t exist. Many of us went hungry for several days. It was harsh— oh, yeah. You’re still waiting. Let me serve you your meal and we’ll talk another day.”

  He took the tray and looked up, catching sight of Roberto waving at him. They ate in silence, Dante quickly devouring the food in a frenzy as if someone was about to take it from him. Roberto chuckled and ate his breakfast in a relaxed manner, thoroughly enjoying it and using the slices of bread to dip into his egg yolk. At one point, he lifted his gaze at a pair of students who arrived, but he soon returned to his handiwork.

  “So Dante, can we talk now?” he said as he chewed on a piece of sausage.

  “Yes. I remember your questions. I am the boy who fought Lord Russell. I believed I had killed him, but apparently he still lives. That fact is horrible on its own, but the truth is, he’s probably out there searching for me and my people as well. Also, yes, I did almost kill the Chancellor and his Chosen, but they were shielded somehow. You also asked how I’m so powerful and if I train. I really don’t know, Rob, and I’ve never trained before. It’s just a matter of continuously healing sick and injured people. In the case of my other ability, I only just recently discovered I possess it. No longer than a year and a half ago.”

  Rob looked up again, finally swallowing the last piece of bread on his tray and resting back on his seat. He was definitely large, Dante thought, in an intimidating way more than anything.

  “Those are good enough answers. I wanted to be sure what I’d heard of you was real. You’re quite impressive, Dante.” The healer looked up strangely. He hadn’t given the boy his name. Roberto’s demeanor had changed suddenly, similarly to how the world darkens as a cloud passes in front of the sun. “I have to tell you, you’re not without enemies for what you’ve accomplished. Enemies who could even be as close as within the University.”

  Dante tensed. A feeling of cold passed over him, a chill that he didn’t quite understand. His limbs stiffened slightly and he felt an inexplicable terror growing in his heart. Is this another exam where I have to fight somebody, or is this guy threatening me?

  “Know who they are? It could help if you told me, so that I could be wary. Your words make it sound like you’re hiding something.”

  “Look, Dante, just be careful wherever you go within the campus. You’re always at risk. There’s a reason someone assigned me to—” he stopped and looked up. It was all the warning the healer had.

  The knife left Roberto’s hands before Dante had realized it, its spinning shape flying over the healer’s shoulder and colliding with an object that had been thrown at his back. Rob threw himself over the table and landed on the floor in front of the attacker with a roll, unsheathing a hidden weapon and catching a strike that had been aimed at Dante’s head. A young girl screamed in the distance. His assailant struck at the thick boy several times: overhead strike, hamstring and stab, but Roberto was just too quick for his size. He stabbed his opponent’s wrist with the baton in his hand to disarm him and knocked the boy off his feet with a sweeping movement.

  “Behind you!” he cried, and Dante spun out of the chair just before a dagger stabbed into it, piercing all the way to the metal of the chair’s backrest. Rob’s attacker was back onto his feet and Dante knew that his companion was too busy to protect him.

  This is no test, the healer realized. This is a proper assassination attempt.

  “Just die,” the attacker said, a dark-haired teen with pale skin. He stabbed forth in quick succession and caught Dante on the shoulder, cutting to the flesh as the healer stumbled back into a table and threw a desperate kick at his attacker.

  “Dante!” Roberto shouted, before the pale boy grabbed Dante by the neck and plunged the dagger into his abdomen. Dante caught the blade with a hand before it could reach any organs and felt it biting into his flesh painfully. For some reason, the wounds weren’t healing.

  “No, please,” he begged as the dagger edged ever so slightly inside his gut. The pain was incredible, and he was bleeding profusely like he never had. “Please!”

  “Die,” the boy said again simply and pushed the weapon forwards with all his strength. Dante’s hand was sawed right open and the dagger finally escaped his grip and slipped into his body to the hilt. He cried out and fell back onto the table, twisting awkwardly, hearing Roberto’s furious cries as he fought his way toward him.

  It all went black a moment later, but Dante was left with one last hemorrhage-fuelled certainty as he felt his intestines shifting towards the gaping wound as if they were about to fall out of him:

  I am actually going to die.

  As the chaos spread and the students ran to the healer’s aid, a man stood with a look of disgust and stormed towards the mess hall doors. The attempt had failed. He had never meant to kill the healer — two boys armed with knives would without difficulty have accomplished that — but a single, savage message would have been enough, with the culprits not having to ending up as corpses like they ultimately had.

  It would have been a nice message to deliver if the boys had succeeded, but using knives was ultimately a bad idea. Both of his killer-servants were dead, courtesy of the fat boy who had been assigned to protect the healer. Next time, I’ll make sure you don’t get a warning.

  Believe me Dante; he promised silently, this isn’t the last time we’ll cross paths.

  Nobody saw the cloaked man as he stepped out and disappeared into the passages outside, their eyes locked instead on the boy whose blood was gushing out of his body.

  It was as if the figure had never ever been there at all…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ~Tension~

  “Why would I want to ally with you?” he asked. Callum’s hands were pulsating with anticipation. If the Whisperer was trying something, he would h
appily strangle the life out of the stony-faced bastard if it was the last thing he did.

  “Because you probably don’t know shit about staying alive among criminals, do you?” the blue-eyed man snapped. “It’s obvious what happens next. Russell earns the trust and respect of everyone here and has us executed. That can’t happen if we’re strong enough to stop him. Don’t think this through so much — I’d rather kill you than befriend you, but necessity obliges.”

  Callum stared at the other man’s face and opened his mouth to answer, but an alarm interrupted him. The gates to the remaining cells began to open and both of them looked up at Block B to witness their common enemy stepping out with a grin.

  “So you two are friends now? Interesting.”

  Guards approached and ordered them both towards the far side of the yard they were on, Russell’s laughter echoing behind them as they went.

  Their captors shepherded them towards a gate in the fence, and through it, into a whole new area that seemed like it had been created for recreational purposes but was never finished.

  “Go do some exercise, scum,” a Coalition officer barked, and Callum saw a guard stabbed a baton through the fence behind them and shocked a prisoner resting against it with a chuckle.

  Callum began to walk and nodded at the Whisperer to follow him. He saw one of the biker’s men watching him from a distance.

  “Is he just keeping an eye, or are you gonna try something stupid? Let me know, before I kill you both.”

  The blue-eyed mercenary shook his head.

  “You and your alien-sympathizer killed most of our men; my friend is just wary of you.” He turned to the guards and lowered his voice. “I’m only doing this out of convenience. You should really think twice before rejecting my offer. I might just be a much more formidable enemy than even Russell himself, my friend.”

  Callum nodded. He knew it was true. Unlike Russell, the Whisperer knew his limitations, and until now, had not shown the weakness of ego that the Lord of Lawlessness carried with him permanently. There was also the matter of experience — the mercenary carried himself like an experienced killer, while the warlord seemed more like a psychopathic criminal who just knew how to keep people afraid enough to follow.

  “What would the conditions be?” Callum asked. He sped his pace up into a jog.

  “We associate for as long as this lasts. Not friends, just a non-hostile agreement in which we actively work together to take the fucker down before he creates another Ayia in this closed environment.”

  “And then?”

  “Are you already thinking that far? I like that.” The Whisperer cleared his throat. “Well, then it’s every man for himself. Who knows, maybe one of us has to die when it’s done, just to keep the peace…”

  Callum nodded and offered a discreet hand as they jogged, and the Whisperer nodded back.

  “Do you have a name, Whisperer?”

  “My name is Reiner. What is yours, soldier?”

  “I’m Callum. Nice to meet you.”

  With that said and done, the two men separated and headed in different directions.

  Callum caught sight of Captain Fillmore staring at him with a strange look a moment later, but the man’s expression warmed when they crossed their gazes.

  “Don’t think I’ve switched sides,” he told the captain with a half-smile as they approached each other. “He’s proposing we work together. Against Russell, that is.”

  “When you’re finished listening to me, Callum, you won’t need to.”

  Captain Fillmore began to speak, his eyes darting around to keep an eye on the guards. Callum listened closely, and by the time the other man had told him what was coming next, his promise had come true.

  “A breakout?”

  “Yes, Callum,” Fillmore said heavily as he turned to leave. “The biggest breakout the world has ever seen…be ready. The first stage begins tonight.”

  He’d been ordered to remain on his level until the other prisoners had descended. The elevator ride would be exclusive; just for you, they’d mocked him.

  “You already fear me; that’s good,” he’d responded, causing the ire of his captors and the joy of his fellow captives.

  Now, he descended on the elevator with the furious guards surrounding him. There were seven of them, one bandaged from where he’d received a powerful blow to the face. All of them glared at him, their batons in their hands, the only thing keeping them from using them was a single order from their superior.

  “You’ll be dead before the end of the week,” one of them whispered to him as the elevator rocked. The man was so close Russell smelled his rank breath.

  “This clown — we’ve had several like him in our time haven’t we boys?” another asked out loud. He had a strong drawl of an accent. “P, remind us what happened to that guy who came in here just a year ago. You know, the one who stole a tank from one of our outposts?”

  “Ah yeah,” another guard said. He was dark-skinned with a severe look, as if he enjoyed inflicting pain and suffering. “He tried this bullshit act too, making friends and impressing the other prisoners. We just waited, took all the shit he threw at us, ‘till one day the warden said it was okay.”

  “Okay to do what, P?” the smiling one replied theatrically, “Pray tell.”

  “We dragged him out of his cell to the center of this very same yard. Gave him a good beating, you know, with blunt objects first to make him tender. He didn’t make much noise, trying to keep his big boy image in front of the rest. He got some broken bones, but that was it.” The black man approached Russell until they were only inches away, “But then the next round began. Blunt weapons with glass or nails. Or both. We hit him until he was bleeding from a hundred different wounds. He began to cry. Only then did he realize what he had gotten into.”

  Russell finally spoke up, a grin spreading across his face.

  “Then what? A bullet to the head?”

  “Nah. Too easy. Machetes. After all, he’d even tried to start a riot, killed some guards.” Russell’s grin faltered ever so slightly, and the dark-skinned speaker noticed. “We cut him to pieces: his hands, his feet, ears. He begged, he screamed; we cut, we sliced. In the end, not much was left of him. We left those moaning remains there for the prisoners to watch until he stopped breathing. Ask the prisoners about Bill the Tank Man, just see if it’s true.”

  The elevator stopped and Russell was shoved off. His biological eye closed and his mouth tightened, but he knew better than to strike back.

  The soldiers’ tale had left him slightly unsettled, not because he had doubted they would hurt him if he kept his antics up, but because they were so proud of it. His beliefs about the Coalition were not without foundation; they were a bunch of thugs in uniform. The only difference between them and him, was they had a license to do whatever they wanted and get away with it.

  He stepped onto the yard and looked at the prisoners gathered there. Many looked at him with respect, others with challenging stares. He had already earned their attention; the rest would come after.

  Suddenly, he felt the urge to correct himself.

  The difference between the guards and me isn’t just that they have a license to get away with things. The difference is that they follow orders, and I don’t. Russell felt the doubts leaving him and nodded to himself. Whatever they may be, however many there are, I can still topple them easily, just like I’ve toppled others before. I won’t end up like Bill.

  A plan began to form in his head as he smiled and spoke up:

  “Gentlemen…”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ~The Tower~

  Maria’s thoughts were fuzzy as they drove their truck past a line of abandoned houses, the eyes of a deformed mutant watching them from inside a small yard surrounded by a chain-link fence and a closed gate. He was probably put in there after his transformation by family members or something, Maria thought, but it was impossible to know exactly how the man had ended up in there. She knew the
success of their adventure didn’t depend on encountering the adults who had left Eden — dead or alive — but it would certainly be either an injection of hope or a desperate and depressing blow, depending on the conditions they found them in.

  Alex had been driving them across the wastelands for hours now, the teens and children in the back of the truck mostly bored and distracted after the initial excitement of setting out into the world. Faraway storms echoed their roars across the empty sky, and the looming shape of the city of Ayia stood in the distance. The entire population of the community had scoured the lands around their hideout for the first two or three hours, their search fruitless other than encountering a few mutants and finding a hidden cache of guns in the basement of a bar full of dusty skeletons. Maria had felt slightly sick seeing all of the dead, hoping that her aunt had breathed her final breath somewhere more dignified than the dirty floor of a tavern.