Dream Chasers (Dystopian Scifi Series Book 1)

by Stark, Logan

  ‘That’s right, Ms Felicity. You ought to be real proud of your son here.’ Peter had no idea what was going on, and he didn’t like the way Midori squeezed his shoulder. ‘He’s got quite the remarkable gift.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Peter asked.

  ‘I never told you, did I?’

  ‘Told me what?’

  ‘You were the first one in history to extract Nightmare Energy straight from a dream.’ Midori’s face had opportunity written all over it, his eyes narrowed, lips thin. ‘You should be real proud.’

  ‘That’s impossible.’ For a moment Peter forgot about his mother. There had only been rumors, countless debates, and scientific studies about the possibility of Nightmare Energy. People said it couldn’t be done, that such a thing didn’t exist. Dream Chasers have always harvested from positive dreams, never bad ones, and it was said that it was just the way of the dreams, the infrastructure of Dream Chasing.

  ‘But it wasn’t really a nightmare,’ Peter said. ‘I was in—’

  ‘Well, I tell you what,’ Midori said. ‘Don’t really care what you did. All I care about is you replicating what you did over and over again.’

  Peter told himself: I’m going to have to play this smart.

  ‘I want my mother out of this,’ Peter said. A trembling hand fell into his and squeezed it so hard that he had to look. What he saw would scar him for life. There was a goodbye on her lips.

  ‘Baby, they, they told me that I only had—’ It all happened so fast. One second she was there, the other second she was on the floor, begging for her life all over again, telling Midori that she only wanted a few minutes more with her only—

  Clap! Clap! the pistol fired. It was the same gun that killed Noni Makaratzi. There was a hazy pause between shots, Peter Steel trying to understand what was happening, and then again: Clap! Clap!

  -13-

  It was a lot warmer in the green Subaru car. A famous Japanese boy band was singing on the radio, shouting words of love in their mother tongue: “Ai wa anata ga hitsuyō to suru subetedesu!” (Love is all you need). Peter was at the back of the car. His mouth and hands were tied with rope. The way you would lead a cow to the farmhouse, Peter had thought when they’d tied him up. And when he’d climbed into the green Subaru car, he laughed at the thought. It was funny to him, not as funny as his dead mother outside the basketball gymnasium, but funny.

  ‘You and I,’ Midori said from the front passenger seat, turning up the radio and looking over his shoulder, ‘we’re going to be rich. You believe me, right?’ Midori patted Peter’s knees. ‘Hey, you okay?’

  The engine roared, and off the wheels went. Peter looked to his side as they slowly drove past the gymnasium. He saw Spotless and the red bucket on the pavement, Spotless throwing his weight forward as he scraped with the mop. Then the view disappeared. Midori tapped his knees and told him the same thing again: we’re going be rich.

  Peter smiled, and nodded. ‘Yeah, we are.’ He looked away and at the window next to him. He was guarded by two men on either side. He wasn’t going to get away, he thought, not with his hands and mouth tied, but it didn’t really matter, because all he wanted to do was stare at the early morning sky. He didn’t want to think. Thinking would make him remember what’d happened.

  They drove around the corner, the radio blasting. Peter could see tall city buildings in the distance, the lights on them a thousand yellow stars. With his eyes fixated on the window, he smiled. ‘Can’t wait,’ he said.

  Midori glanced over his seat. He studied Peter. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I said, I can’t wait.’

  Midori wasn’t smiling anymore. ‘For what?’

  Peter slowly turned his head. ‘We’re going to be rich, right?’

  ‘Don’t you turn crazy on me,’ Midori said, reaching for his pocket and pulling out his cell. And that’s when the crash happened, just as Midori pressed his cell, as the screen flashed on. It sounded like a train derailing from its tracks at high speed, as if the din had come from inside the car and not outside, but it clearly came from outside. Peter knew this, because as the glass spat in every direction, he saw a Humvee outside with someone standing on top of it. That someone was pointing a gun with a red laser, and by the sound of it, it had to be a powerful gun, maybe a sniper rifle. Thunder struck again, this bullet going into the man next to Peter. Blood and glass spat onto his face. People screamed. The car swerved as another shot was fired, this one hitting the driver in the neck. Tires screeched, and then metal slammed against a brick wall, knocking over trashcans. Luck was on Peter’s side – he fell, head first, against the seat in front. The driver, however, was not lucky. He took a bullet in the neck and spat through the windshield.

  Everything around Peter was a black haze. Gunfire rattled on as he tried getting out of the car, but there was no point. He couldn’t move his legs. Someone was on top of him, a body, a bleeding body. The black haze thickened around him. He tried breathing for air, but it was hard. ‘H-help,’ he whispered. Amid constant gunfire, which to Peter’s ears sounded far away, he heard someone he hated with every fiber of his heart. Midori winced. Glass spat onto the car’s steel roof, sounding like hail on a stormy afternoon. Midori winced again, and then Peter heard some kind of smacking. Peter had enough energy to lift his chin. In his black, hazy vision, he saw Midori slither from the front seat and out into the night.

  Midori was there, but he was not there. Did it make sense? No, it didn’t. But Peter had enough wits to know that his mind must’ve been playing an old recording over and over. The image was of Midori’s legs slithering from the front seat. Constant gunfire. He heard voices, and felt hot glass on his neck. Glass cracked. Someone was pulling him from the wreckage, a man, maybe two, maybe three? They all had masks covering their faces. At least he could see their eyes.

  Then he couldn’t breathe. The air in his lungs was diminishing. He needed air, fresh air. In the far background, someone screamed for mercy. Mercy was met with a bullet, a firework bang.

  Peter stared at the heavens, his body unable to move. He saw masked faces appearing over his vision, and he thought: am I still Dream Chasing?

  About the author

  Logan Stark currently lives in England, where he works as a chef in a five star restaurant. He’s not only excellent at burning food, but he’s also great at getting the orders mixed up (people never get their food on time). He lives with Timpy, his black cat, and loves drinking coffee while writing stories.

  Thank you for reading

  If you enjoyed the book, why not go leave a review. Let the world know what you thought. Thanks.

  The next book is now out, check it out!

  Out on Amazon: Dream Disaster

  There are a few gangs in Lower City Tokyo, but they are nothing compared to the Yaramati, who murders without leaving a trace and then uses sophisticated software to cover its tracks. One of the men entrusted with the IC software, Mark Hambeldon – a man who has been with the gang for over ten years – is about to have his world turned upside down.

  The leader of the Yaramati, Rida Yamaliti, wants his sister dead because of family complications and pressure from rival gangs. Rida calls in Mark Hambeldon, someone whom he knows is loyal to the gang, and gives him the mission.

  Mark takes the assassination contract with a confused heart. He has always liked Millie, who is just a pretty woman minding her own business. Mark has a difficult choice to make: does he kill her? Or does he question Rida’s decision?

  To make things worse, Vase – an eighteen-year-old and the gang leader’s daughter – has a crush on Mark, and she’ll do anything to make Mark hers.

 

 

 
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