Wash had almost given up when he came upon a book with two words printed on the spine—Dream Machine. “That’s it,” he whispered and pulled it out.
Now fearful that someone might see his light from the street, Wash moved over to a corner of the lab. Sitting on the floor with his back wedged against the wall, he opened the book and began to read. He was afraid he would find long columns of confusing figures, but instead the book appeared to be a diary. It began simply: “I have found the way to join minds with books or other forms of media. I can now put people into these artificial forms, and they will feel that they are reality.”
This is it! Now all I got to do is find out if he’s had anything to do with Josh and the others that are missing. He’s got to, though. He’s the only one that can run this thing.
Convinced that the answer lay in the book but fearful to steal it for fear of being found out, Wash read as fast as he could. It was hard going, but he was afraid to skip anything. He could hear the clock ticking in the hallway, and once there was a thump overhead that made his heart leap. He froze and waited, absolutely still, until he was convinced that there was no danger.
He had gotten only a fourth of the way through the book when he realized that there was no way that he could possibly read all of this material before dawn. In despair he thought, Well, lots of times when I was reading a book back in Oldworld, I’d just skip to the end of it to see how it came out. I’m gonna try that now.
Wash turned quickly to the back quarter of the book and was delighted when the first words his eyes fell on were: “The Sleepers are becoming more and more addicted to innervision. Josh, the leader, is the most likely to succumb first. He is exhausted and cannot think straight. I will have him soon. On the other hand, the small black boy is very resistant. I may have to take other steps with him.”
Other steps. Other steps, my foot! I’d like to take my step and kick you back between the pockets. He read on eagerly and found records of how each of the Sleepers had come in and which book or television program they had asked to be transported into. It was fascinating, but he had no time to waste.
One scientific fact did catch his eye, though. He found a scribbled note that said, “I have found a way to put two dreamers into the same dream by installing a twin set of controls. I can put one subject into a dream and then, by attaching an identical headset, at identical settings, put another dreamer into that same dream. Thus if I put Josh Adams into a dream, I can also put the girl Sarah into that same dream. I do not know what value this is, but it has been an interesting experiment.”
Instantly Wash knew what he had to do. “That’s it,” he whispered. “I’ve got to find where Josh is, and I got to get to him in his dream, whatever it is, and I got to convince him to come back.”
He read a little farther, and what he read confirmed his belief. Oliver had written about something he called “final dreams”: “I have so calibrated the innervision machinery that once a dreamer is put into these final dreams, he can come back only if he himself wills it. This will prevent anyone from going after others to bring them back against their will. It would be useless, for they themselves must make the decision, and of course they will not do so because they are living the dream of a lifetime. They will not choose to come back, even should someone try to convince them to do so.”
Wash sat absolutely still. This seemed to be the end of his findings. What good would it do to go into their dreams if they won’t come back? But then he seemed to hear the voice of Goél saying, “Plunge into the unknown. Dare whatever you must for the sake of your friends the Sleepers.”
Wash suddenly nodded. “I’ll do it!” he muttered. “I’ll go into their dreams, and I’ll find them. I’ll find Josh first and somehow convince him that he’s got to come back.”
But Wash was still stumped. I’ve got to find them. But where are they? He glanced upward toward where Oliver, no doubt, lay sleeping. He’s got them hidden somewhere—I just know it. And they could be almost anywhere in this town. Not in this house, though—there’s not room enough. Another thought occurred to him. I’ll bet all those other people that have disappeared—Goél’s servants—I bet they’re right here in this town somewhere too, and I’ll have to find them.
Wash replaced the books, left Oliver’s house, closed the window, and stationed himself across the street where he could see the inventor when he came out in the morning. He slept some until dawn, but as soon as the sun rose and touched his eyes, awakening him, he was afraid to doze off again. The air was so cool his teeth chattered. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. Nevertheless, he stayed awake, pinching himself when he almost slipped into a half sleep.
Finally, at 8:30, Oliver came out of the house. He was wearing his hat and coat and carrying a large briefcase. He turned right and headed purposefully down the street.
Wash followed with some difficulty. He had to keep out of sight, for if Oliver turned around and saw him, the game would be up. He was also afraid that some of the townspeople would see him sneaking through alleys and dodging in and out from behind trees. That could be deadly too, for the Sanhedrin had spies everywhere.
Fortunately, Oliver did not go far. He entered a big four-story building made of dull red brick. It had a steep-pitched roof and was the largest building in Acton. Wash knew well what it was.
It’s the prison—he’s got them all in the old prison.
The Sleepers had learned quickly that there was a prison in Acton where criminals of all kinds were kept—not just lawbreakers from the town itself but from all the territory round about. The prison had a bad reputation, evidently well earned. According to some reports, there were murderers and thieves and every sort of tough in the world behind those red walls.
Now, Wash thought in despair, I got to break into jail. Bad enough trying to break out. I wish Reb was here with me.
He lurked around until Oliver came out nearly four hours later. Wash followed the inventor to his house, made certain that he was inside, and then went walking down an alley.
“How do you get into a jail?” he said. He had absolutely no idea, but he was a sturdy young man, this Wash Jones, and determined to get inside even if he never got out again.
It took Wash two days to get into the jail. He discovered that bread was delivered every morning by a dull-witted young man who brought it from across town in a cart. Wash noticed both mornings that a guard would let him in and leave the door open until the boy came out again.
Wash thought about what he did. He lets the boy with the bread in, takes him to someplace inside, lets him deliver the bread, then brings him right back out again, he thought. What I’ve got to do is be right near that door when that bread boy goes in. I’ll wait and give ’em time to get to wherever it is they take the bread. Then I’ll dart inside and hide.
It was a desperate scheme, and Wash had little hope of it working. “But it’s all I know to do,” he said. “If they catch me, then that’s the end of it.”
The next morning he timed his walk so that he was there when the bread boy came, whistling a tuneless song. The door opened at the boy’s knock, and he stepped inside carrying the huge box of bread on his shoulders. Through the half-open door Wash saw the boy disappear, being led by a guard.
Quickly Wash stepped inside and gave a sigh of relief when there was nobody else in sight. A long hall led from the foyer, and he took it at once, his heart beating fast. As he came to the bottom of stairs, he saw that the first floor was divided into two sets of cells, one on each side of the hall. He peeked into a cell and saw a prisoner lying flat on his back, dressed in a dirty gray uniform.
Yanking his head back, Wash thought, They can’t be in this place.
He got to the second floor, then to the third, and was feeling discouraged when he came to the stairs that led to the top floor. He heard footsteps coming and in desperation scrambled up the steps. The door at the top was unlocked—he stepped inside and shut it behind him, breathing hard. He turned around
, and, in the faint light given by lanterns mounted from the ceiling, he almost stopped breathing.
Along both sides of the room were single cots. On each cot a person lay, and attached to his temple was a headset. The wires led to black boxes such as Wash had seen on the dream machine.
Quickly he moved down the aisle between the two lines of cots, looking at faces. Most were strangers, but on one cot lay his friend Josh Adams. He checked the other cots in the large room and breathed a sigh of relief. They’re all here. He stopped by Reb, whose face was composed into a dull look, seeming almost dead. Leaning over him, Wash said, “Don’t you worry, Reb. I’ll get you out of this.”
He walked back to Josh, thinking, I’ll have to get Josh to come back first. He’s the leader. He’ll have to bring back the rest. “Come on, Goél,” he said, “give me some help!”
He found that each box was indeed equipped with two headsets. He read the dials, which were meaningless, then looked at Josh’s face. Josh was half smiling, but he did not look good at all to Wash. Clipping the unused headset to his own head, he lay on the floor beside Josh’s cot. He reached up to where there were two toggle switches. The one connected to Josh’s side was flipped to the “On” position; the other, which was attached to his own headset, was on “Off.”
Wash put his finger on the switch and muttered, “Well, here I come, Josh, wherever you are . . .”
10
“You’re Not Real!”
The red-and-white cork floated serenely, bobbing slightly on the waves of the small creek. The blue sky and brilliant yellow sun reflected on the surface, breaking it up into long, wavy lines of light.
Suddenly the cork disappeared with a loud plop.
Josh Adams had been leaning back, dreamily holding the fishing pole lightly in his hands. The warm sun and the soft breeze and the murmuring of the creek had almost put him to sleep. Now, as the pole bent in his hand, he straightened up with a yell.
“Look out!” The line jerked madly, drawn by the frantic struggles of a fish trying to escape. Josh’s straw hat fell off, and as the pole bent farther he yelled, “Got you! You won’t get away this time.”
Josh moved down the bank, giving the fish line to keep him from breaking it. It was such a powerful fish that he was afraid it would snap the pole, but finally he drew it in. His heart almost stopped as he saw the size of the bass.
Without breathing, he reached over and stuck his thumb inside the massive mouth. The fish bit down hard, but Josh didn’t care. He fell over backwards and gave the fish a heave. Instantly he was up, running to where the fish was flopping, its silver scales flashing in the sunlight. Josh picked up the fish and removed the hook. The bass fought madly, but Josh held it tight.
“Must weigh five pounds at least! The biggest I ever caught!” Josh breathed.
Any fishing after that would have been anticlimactic, so he got his box of crickets and another of worms, wound up his line, and started back toward the road. He walked through the woods easily, his long legs pumping, his straw hat tilted back on his head. He was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a blue-and-white checked shirt open at the throat. His worn sneakers flapped as he moved.
He came out of the woods onto the road. Turning right, he found his bicycle and carefully tied the fish across the handlebars. Balancing his pole and stringing the bait buckets, he shoved off and pumped his way along. He whistled a song everyone else had stopped whistling a year ago, but he didn’t care.
Josh Adams was happy. He pulled up in front of a white frame house and pushed the bicycle to the backyard, where he leaned it against a sycamore tree. He untied the fish and admired it. “Wait until Mom sees you! This’ll feed everybody tonight.”
Going to the door, he called out, “Mom, look what I got.”
Mrs. Adams opened the screen door and looked out. She smiled. “Why, Josh, that’s the biggest fish you ever brought home.”
“Start making hush puppies, Mom. Make enough for Dad and me both. He never leaves me enough.”
“All right.” Mrs. Adams laughed. “You dress that fish. Your dad will be home early today.”
Josh quickly took the fish to where he usually cleaned his catches. Pulling a knife out of a tackle box, he quickly filleted the fish and admired the pinkish meat. “Boy, I’m sorry to spoil your day, but you’re gonna go down pretty good.”
By the time Josh had showered and come downstairs, he heard the front door slam.
“Hi, Josh.” His father grinned and threw his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“I got one for you. What’s yours?”
“You first.”
“Well, I caught the biggest bass I ever got. We’re gonna have fish and hush puppies and fries. Mom’s cooking them right now. Now, what’s your surprise?”
“We’re going to the ball game tonight over at Bluff City.”
“That’s great, Dad!”
“Let me go get cleaned up. We’ll eat, and we’ll go—just you and me. Your mother doesn’t like baseball anyway.”
Josh and his parents enjoyed the fish, and his mother refused to accept help with the dishes. “You two go on now, but be back early. You’ve got school tomorrow, Josh.”
The home team won. Then Josh and his dad stopped on the way back at a Baskin Robbins. Josh filled up on Rocky Road ice cream. His father took vanilla, and Josh said, “Only wimps eat vanilla, Dad.”
“You eat your old messed-up ice cream. The only good ice cream is vanilla,” Josh’s dad said solemnly.
When Josh had gone to bed, he thought, just before dropping off to sleep, What a good day. I wish every day could be this much fun!
The next morning Josh left for school, stuffing a biscuit into his mouth. He started walking rapidly, for he was a bit late. He was still thinking of the fish he had caught.
“We shouldn’t have eaten that fish. I should have had him stuffed,” he said out loud.
“Josh—”
Josh was surprised, for he had not seen anybody. He turned and saw a boy smaller and younger than himself—a black boy wearing rather strange-looking clothing. “Hi,” Josh said. “Are you lost?”
“No, I’m not lost.”
“Well, you don’t live around here, do you?” Josh said. “I haven’t seen you before.”
“No, I don’t live around here.”
All of a sudden, something struck Josh as peculiar. “How did you know my name was Josh?”
“I know a lot about you. I know your dog’s name is Jock. I know you like Western movies, especially those with John Wayne—the old ones . . .”
“How did you know all this stuff about me?”
“Josh, we’ve got to talk.”
“I can’t talk to you. I’ve got to go to school. Don’t you?”
“This is more important than school.”
“I don’t even know you.”
“Yes, you do. You know me, and I know you. My name is Wash Jones.”
“I never knew anybody named Wash.” He walked rapidly away, but he heard the sound of footsteps following. Josh looked around and saw that there was an anxious, almost agonized, expression on the boy’s face.
“Look,” the boy said, “this means a lot to you. More than anything in the world.”
“I don’t believe any of this,” Josh said, but he was curious. Something about the boy troubled him, and he suddenly realized what it was. He scratched his head and asked, “Have we ever met before? You look familiar.”
Wash grinned faintly. “Yes, we’ve met before, but not like you think. Look,” he said again, “we’ve got to talk, Josh. Please just give me a chance to tell you about something real important.”
“Well, go ahead.”
The boy looked around almost frantically. They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk; this was no place to talk. “Not now,” he said. “After school. Will you meet me down at the creek where you caught the bass?”
“How do you know I caught a bass?”
Josh asked suspiciously. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Just be there,” Wash said. “I’ll wait for you.”
Josh watched as the boy walked off. Something about their meeting disturbed him. “There’s something strange about that guy,” he said. “I won’t be there today. He’s some kind of a kook.”
Wash paced back and forth by the creek. He was more nervous than he had thought possible. “How am I going to convince Josh that what I’m telling him is true? He thinks all this here is real. But I’ve got to do it.” He looked up, saw Josh, and drew a sigh of relief. Well, at least he came. He waited until the tall boy came to stand within five feet from him and said, “Thank you for coming, Josh.”
Josh Adams shook his head. “I must be losing my mind! I’m going nutty. I almost didn’t come. But if I didn’t, I had an idea you’d show up on my doorstep. Now, what do you want?”
Wash swallowed hard. “I know this is going to be a little bit complicated. Can we sit down here beside the creek while I tell you what I’ve come for?”
“I don’t have all day,” Josh said. Then he must have seen the pleading look in Wash’s eyes. He said, “All right, I’ll give you ten minutes.”
“Thanks, Josh.” Wash sat down and folded his legs, facing the other boy. He had been practicing his speech all day long. It sounded feeble and not possible even to his own ears, but desperately he plunged ahead.
“One time, Josh, there was a war. A big war—so big it destroyed almost the whole earth, but there were a few who were saved out of it. There were seven young people . . .”
Josh looked skeptical as he began to listen, but the intensity of Wash’s expression and the strangeness of his story apparently caught his interest until finally he seemed enthralled. He leaned forward, listening to the stories of the Seven Sleepers.
Forty-five minutes later, Wash said, “And so you see, I’ve come to get you to come back to Nuworld with me, Josh. You’ve got to come.” He waved his hand around. “All this that you see isn’t true. It’s just a dream, Josh. Your real life is back in Nuworld.”
Escape with the Dream Maker Page 8