The Valkyrie_Genesis

by LK Walker

  “It’s been a crap day.”

  There’s another voice in the room, one I don't know, also panting. “Valkyrie is secure. There’s a secondary entry.”

  “Let’s go.” Zander grabs my arm hard and drags me through the door into bright sunshine. A man in his forties, built like a tank, with sandy blonde hair sprints past to an adjacent door. He gives Zander a frustrated look on the way past.

  “What's a secondary entry?” I try to get Zander’s attention, but he’s moving me along too fast.

  “I'll tell you about it later.”

  “Enough,” I yell at him. “I’m already stuck in a bloody gym with the roof falling in and no way of getting out. I have no idea whether I’ll survive the night and all I want is for everything to stop for a second.”

  “What?” He turns to face me; his eyes are bugging out and his mouth gaping. Before he can ask anything further, I chime in.

  “Either I’m dreaming or I’m going crazy. Either way, I want some ice cream. I deserve ice cream.”

  His face is crystal clear today. No flickering, no static.

  “I’ve finally decided what I want you to look like.” My hand trails over his features. “I am pretty good at it, don't you think?” I swear his face blushes when I tell him that. “And I forgot to dress you properly.” My hand runs down his shirtless chest. I’m good at that too.

  “What did you say about a roof falling in?” Zander has me by the shoulders and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to let me go until I answer him.

  “I'm stuck in a building that the earth decided to use as a maraca. It could collapse at any time.” At least my imagination is making it a little more bearable. “Your wounds have healed,” I add. I step up on tippy toes and kiss his lips. When I return to the ground, I look up to see a smile on his face.

  “Is the building falling in or is that a metaphor for something?”

  “No. I'm actually stuck in a building. We had a massive earthquake. Can't we talk about something else?”

  Zander stops dead, shock mars his beautiful face. He holds up one finger to silence me. His left eye goes black again and I am left standing there.

  “Access files—Cara Sullivan. Cross reference earthquake,” he says out loud. He catches my hand as I move to play with his eye. It turns out he can see with the other eye.

  Less than ten seconds later he returns to me. I think I see relief spread across his face. He gives me a smile.

  “Come on Cara, let's get you some ice cream.”

  “Thank you.” I lace my fingers in his and he leads me away. “Did you get a response from that thing.” I point to his eye.

  “Does it matter? This is your dream, what do you want it to say?”

  “I could do with a happy ever after?”

  “It’s a dream, not a fairy tale.”

  That sounds like me.

  The dining hall is huge and empty. Not a single skerrick of life anywhere.

  “Why do you have all these food places with no one in them?”

  “There’s a special meeting on right now. Everyone’s there.”

  “Except us.” I look over at Zander and give him a cheeky smile. My subconscious planned this—an empty hall. Kudos to me. Zander unlinks my hand, kissing my knuckles before giving my hand back to me.

  “Wait here, I'll get you some ice cream.”

  “Can I change my mind?” This is all a dream, I repeat to myself.

  “What would you like instead,” he asks.

  It’s just a dream. Maybe my last. Even so I can’t help my cheeks from warming before I say what I'm thinking. There’s no way I would say it in real life. But in a dream…

  “I want you. No ice cream. Not yet anyway.”

  A smile plasters across his face. “You're very forward.” He looks around as if someone might interrupt us.

  “Near death with a lack of reality will do that to a girl.” I sit up on a table top. The menu pops out of the table next to my bottom. We both ignore it.

  “What would your boyfriend say?” Zander bites his lip after asking. He moves in closer.

  “Funny. I love him—Jack. You would think I would make you look a bit more like him. You're nothing like him. You're the anti-Jack.”

  Zander is close enough for me to grab his belt. I hook my fingers in it and pull him in. When he’s close enough, I wrap my legs around him, pinning him against me.

  “You really love him?” he asks, leaning away from me.

  “How could I not. He’s looked after me when no one else would.”

  “That's not love. It’s gratitude for a nursemaid.” He says it with an edge of jealousy.

  “That's rude.” I relax my grip on Zander so he can back away. Two of my fingers stay hooked in his belt. “He is calm and sweet and I trust him with everything. He knows everything.”

  “Does he know about me?”

  “I’m not telling him about the perfect man I made up in my dreams. That would hurt him.”

  “Perfect man, huh?”

  “Perhaps a little yappy,” I pull him back in, locking my legs around him again. I crush my lips to his, running fingers over his bare shoulders. His hand pushes through my hair, deepening the kiss. I hide away my feelings of guilt. I’m not cheating if it’s not real. I reach down to unbuckle his belt.

  The world screams around me.

  Every hair on my body stands to attention and all my muscles tighten in synchronization.

  My eyes shoot wide open. They aren't screams, they’re sirens. Zander’s hands scoop me up before depositing me roughly under the table I had, only moments before, been sitting on.

  His eye turns black again.

  “I have Valkyrie in the mess hall. Uncouple immediately.” A few seconds’ silence. “I don't give a shit, just do it.” He looks wild.

  “What’s going on? Are we under attack?” He doesn't bother answering he just leans in and kisses me—hard and desperately.

  Chapter 10

  I gasp as my body shocks awake. The pain sears in my brain, worse than last time this happened. An ungainly howl erupts from my lips, bouncing off the walls. I'm back in the gym on the hard mats.

  “No,” I cry out as the pain subsides. My voice mingles with JT's who seems to be as lost and confused as me.

  The dream isn’t fading. I still feel Zander's lips on mine.

  “What the hell happened? They were under attack or something.” I need to stop talking. JT is looking terrified already, without my crazy rants. It felt so real this time. I’m having a problem differentiating between dreams and reality. The pain in my skull is subsiding. “What do you mean under attack?” JT has his hands on my arms, shaking me.

  “Nothing. It was only a dream. A nightmare. Another nightmare.” I correct myself. I try to calm down before the day’s events claim my nerves again. As if on cue the ground gives a shudder.

  “Just a dream?” He’s almost yelling at me now. “How can it be just a dream? The sirens were going. They were under attack.”

  My mind goes blank. Rational thought has gone out the window.

  “What did you say?” I think he’s taking the piss. His face tells me otherwise.

  “They were under attack.” He repeats. His wide eyes stare back at me. “You weren't there. I never saw you,” JT is still trying to get something from me. Confirmation perhaps that he isn't going crazy.

  My mind is sorting through all the images I can remember from my dream. What if it wasn't a dream. I think harder. It wasn't real either. Zander broke my nose in my dream—not in real life. I relax a little. It's not real. Next option—could it be a coincidence? My brain is in overdrive scrambling for an explanation. Perhaps the sounds of sirens seeped into both our dreams. Not that I can hear any over JT’s excited monologue. Then, three words spill from JT’s mouth that stop every other thought in my head.

  “... Hagel Fitness Centre.”

  “W—what…what did you say?” I stutter. I'm not sure I want the answer.

 
“That’s where I was,” JT says his voice teetering on panic.

  I open my mouth to speak. My brain is failing me, nothing comes out.

  “You know it, don’t you?” He’s no longer yelling. “You’ve trained there?”

  “Not a dream.”

  “Not a dream,” he repeats. “Why didn't I see you at the gym?” he asks.

  “I didn't go to the gym. I ...” Zander is not a dream. I let out a breath. “I went and got—ice cream.”

  “Ice cream?”

  “I wasn't in the mood for getting the snot beaten out of me.” I feel my nose. Still straight—not broken. If that world is real, it should be broken.

  “You're learning to fight too?” JT wants to know more.

  “Not to fight, to defend myself.” But the look on his face tells me he doesn't accept there’s a difference.

  “Kane trains you?”

  “Who's Kane?”

  “Nana then?” What are the chances of pulling that name out of a hat?

  “Nana.” I confirm I know her. “She’s the trainer, but Zander is my—what is he?” I have no concept of who he is to me, since apparently, he is not the figment of my imagination I previously considered him to be.

  “I have no idea.” JT responds as my brain tries to gain some traction.

  “My contact?” It’s the only word that comes to mind.

  There is silence as we both try to process this latest assault on our psyches.

  Outside the sky is starting to darken, making the red and blue flashing lights dotted around the city more distinguishable. The blinking lights create alternating shadows on the buildings they are parked next to, creating the illusion that the buildings are dancing, from side to side.

  “If it’s real, why have I never seen you?” I continue staring out the window as I ask JT, watching the lights’ rhythmic patterns.

  When emergency lights are all you can find to calm you, it’s safe to say it’s a bad day.

  “Do you think they keep us apart on purpose?” JT stands next to me staring out the window too.

  “I don't know. What do you think they want?” I ask.

  “I have no idea.”

  I can't go back to sleep. I won't. Who knows what they want.

  It’s screwing with my head. Hell, I don’t know how real they are. Perhaps they’re part of a shared dream—if that’s even possible. All I know is that it feels like a betrayal on some level, although I’m unsure how or by whom.

  JT and I sit in silence, just sit there, contemplating, trying to make sense of this new, unexpected, information.

  JT’s tone is soft when he finally talks. “What do you remember?”

  “Not a lot.” I shake my head, although he probably can’t see the movement. The sun has disappeared beneath the horizon leaving only a miniscule amount of light in its wake. “They were only dreams. They were always hazy when I woke. Just like a dream should be.”

  “That’s how it was for me too,” JT agrees. He touches my arm.

  I hadn’t expected any contact. Turns out I’m a tad jumpy. My whole body flinches like I’ve been shot with a taser.

  “Sorry, I was trying to be comforting.”

  A stray drift of light comes through the window. Vehicles have begun moving through our section of the city. Headlights of passing fire engines and rescue trucks throw shadows onto the ceiling above us. I can see a building or two that are illuminated in the distance, perhaps from flood lights on backup generators.

  “Jack will be worried by now,” I say out loud, more for me than JT.

  “Worried. The poor guy’s going to be freaking out. I’ll bet he’s out there looking for you.”

  The attempted reassuring hand on my arm might not have been comforting, but talking about Jack, as if there’s no chance anything has happened to him, is heartening. JT has put the thought in my head that Jack’s out there and I strain my eyes in the dark in case he is. But he’s not and although I know he couldn’t possibly get through the chaos out there, it’s still disappointing not to see his face looking back at me.

  It’s now 0300 hours and it’s bitterly cold.

  Men and women in hard hats and fluoro vests are moving down the street, spray cans in hand, checking the buildings, one by one, for occupants who, like us are trapped within. Half an hour ago, an emergency crew stood below the spin room’s large window, reassuring us that they were coming to liberate us. My hope soared until they added the proviso that it would take a while yet. After all, there was only a certain amount of equipment to go around. Honestly, even with the stalling, knowing we’re on their ‘to do’ list helps. The difference between telling each other we’re getting out and hearing it from someone who has the means of making it happen is colossal.

  We retreat into our protective circle of spin bikes. My throat is raw from yelling at the rescue team through the sealed glass window, from three floors up. Whoever they are, they’ve kindly left a flood light beaming on the building. It’s fractionally less scary when you can see what might kill you.

  Since we’re not going back to sleep, we delve into the dreams, giving each other a rundown of what we can remember of the other place. Our recollections are so similar, scarily so. JT didn’t have Zander, though. He had some emotionless, thick-necked, military guy named Kane. JT says he is all business. He preferred to be in the company of Nana, she had ‘zing’. That was his description.

  JT had written off the dreams as his own fantasy, like I had. He wants to join the army with aspirations of becoming a drill sergeant. He applied a few weeks ago, and he’s still waiting to hear back.

  “Get up.” I grab for JT’s arm. At least in the dim light, he can see my hand coming. He follows me to his feet. “If we’re both trained to fight, this should be a cinch.”

  With a good amount of forward momentum, I aim at his chest with a closed fist. My clenched hand doesn’t feel natural or comfortable, not like I remember. JT doesn’t even flinch as I swing at him. Instead, he takes the full blow on his right pec.

  “Ouch,” he cries at me before rubbing his chest vigorously. “Can you warn me first.”

  “I didn’t think you’d need a warning. In battle, they’re not going to inform you before swinging.”

  “In battle? It’s a scrap, not a military coup.”

  “Whatever.” I laugh a little. His tone is priceless. Laughing feels good. I take a mock swing at him. He’s a whole lot stronger than I am and grabs my wrist and yanks it off course.

  “Okay. Serious this time. I’ll take a swing at you.” JT says. He gives me the nod before waiting for me to confirm that I’m ready. His fist moves towards me and my mind comprehends that it’s coming. My reactions kick into gear. They’re not what I was hoping for. There is too much indecision. I try to move my head out of the way and duck at the same time. JT punches me in the side of the head. The only saving grace is that he checks the speed of his punch before it makes purchase, otherwise the ringing in my ear might be a hell of a lot worse.

  “Safe to say that we never really learnt how to fight.” He gives me a pat on the shoulder before sitting back in his spot. “So, we see the same dreams?”

  Thankfully, JT has made no further mention of Zander or asked about our interactions. All I’ve said is that Zander is my equivalent of Kane. I don’t tell him anything else. I’m already mortified that there might be someone outside my head who knows or, even worse, saw me grab at Zander so inappropriately. I don't know about JT, but I’m trying to work out who they are and how the hell they got in my head.

  “Doctor Abrams,” I exclaim.

  “What?” JT sounds shocked by my voice as it mingles with the sound of far-off sirens. I brushed over a few details when we shared life stories, missing out the bit about Mom, and about seeing a therapist. The interest the doctor was showing in my dreams must be part of all this. If I’m to find out whether he has anything to do with it, I’ll have to share.

  “My mother was killed in a car accident three months
ago. A driver drove straight through a stop sign—impacted the driver’s door. She died shortly after arriving at the hospital.” My voice is detached. They are just words that spill forth, a record of events. I cannot bear to feel them now. I can see the whites of JT’s eyes expand in the faint light. “I was sent to see a shrink.” He is listening intently. Before he can say ‘sorry’, I persevere.

  “Doctor Abrams has taken a keen interest in my dreams,” I say.

  “Doctor John Abrams?” His back straightens.

  “You know him?” It’s a redundant question. He knows Doctor Abrams’ first name. We have finally fitted a puzzle piece.

  “He’s in San Francisco now? I didn’t know he was here. It doesn’t matter, it’s been years since I saw him.”

  JT seems to think that is the end of the conversation, so I prompt him. “And?”

  He hesitates a little longer. “It's been a while since I’ve had to talk about it.” Even in the half-light he has to look away. “My father used to beat my mom and my brother on a regular basis. And me too.” For the first time, I wish it was completely dark, so I can't see his face. Or perhaps I’d prefer he can't see mine. “When I was fourteen, I thought it was my job to stand up to him. Stop him from hitting us.” Again, silence. I say nothing. “I did. He beat me unconscious and then put my mom in a hospital bed. She had a stroke and needed a whole heap of rehab to get her back to a semblance of a normal life. I blamed myself for ages. My uncle stepped in and paid for sessions with Doctor Abrams.”

  “When did you last see the doctor?”

  “Years ago. Maybe six, I guess. In Sacramento.”

  “Have you been having the dreams all this time?”

  “Nah. They started the night of the Fitness Industry Awards. You're looking at this year’s recipient of the Personal Trainer of the Year.”

  “I can't see you that well.”

  “Beat you wish you could now.” JT lavishes a cocky twang to his words. I refrain from telling him it suits him.

  “When was that?”

  His hand comes up to count. “’Bout six months or so.”

  That’s not what I was hoping for. It’s a little deflating, I’m looking for clear cut. Something I can stab a finger at.