Dreamweavers: Awakening

vers: Awakening

  P J G Robbins

  Dreamweavers: Awakening

  By P J G Robbins

  Copyright 2014 P J G Robbins

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  1

  Drip… drip… drip…

  The rhythmic sound was all that remained of the storm that had blown through the city so swiftly and decisively. Torrents of water flowed through the gutters, taking the contents of the flooded sewers and spreading them far and wide. An oppressive stench hung thickly in the air and, with most of the populace seeking refuge indoors, an eerie stillness prevailed. All in all, Ryan Butler could have picked a better night to find himself cowering in a shop doorway to escape the elements. And to hide from his pursuers.

  The storm had caused rolling blackouts city-wide that had assisted his getaway, but he now had no idea where he was, nor which direction he had come from. Everything looked the same; grid-iron roads lined with run down mini-marts and pawn shops, all lit by garish neon signs that flickered and buzzed as the electricity sub-stations struggled to cope with demand. It was a stark and desolate place, seemingly devoid of life. The only creatures Ryan had encountered while he had been making his escape was the occasional mangy dog roaming the streets, foraging in the garbage down one of the foreboding alleyways that riddled the city.

  It was like a scene out of one of the many computer games that Ryan enjoyed so much. He had played through such desolate suburban landscapes countless times; fighting terrorists, hijacking cars and fending off hordes of the undead at various points in his gaming career. Quite how he had managed to end up slap bang in the middle of such a scenario was anyone’s guess, but the reality was far grimmer than he could ever have imagined. For a start, he had no weapon at his side. No shotgun. No sub-machinegun. No sniper rifle. Not even a baseball bat. Quite what he would have done had he been in possession of any of these, he was not entirely sure. He was deft with a keyboard and mouse, and deadly with a joypad, but the reality was that Ryan had never even held a real gun, let alone fired one. Still, it would have been a comfort to have had one alongside him just the same. When he had been confronted by the faceless mob the feeling of cold steel in his hand would have given him some confidence, even if he’d had no idea what to do with it.

  The faceless mob; how true that statement was. Ever since he had arrived in the city they had been after him; a shambling group of its inhabitants devoid of any facial features whatsoever. What they wanted from a young lad like him, Ryan didn’t know. He felt like he’d been running from them for days and, for the time being, was simply glad of the opportunity to get some rest. He pulled his jacket close in around him, as if it would keep the terrible night at bay, and kicked his feet up onto a pile of trash and old newspapers on the other side of the doorway.

  ‘Gnnnh…. Whassat?’

  Ryan jumped as the pile of refuse shifted beneath his feet. He pressed back into his corner, wide-eyed and afraid, ready to run for his life in a heartbeat. Slowly a shaggy head appeared from beneath a tabloid paper. Dark eyes within sunken sockets regarded him keenly.

  ‘Got any booze?’ asked the man eventually. Ryan began to wonder if the smell in the air really was coming from the sewers. He shook his head.

  ‘Shame,’ grunted the man, uncoiling himself from the foetal position. He yawned and stretched out his arms and legs. He was wearing a tatty tracksuit beneath an even more threadbare jacket. Somewhat surprisingly, he was clean-shaven.

  ‘You… you’ve got a face,’ stuttered Ryan, not taking his eyes off the man.

  The vagrant put his hands up to his cheeks and patted around his eyes, nose and mouth, as if discovering them for the first time.

  ‘So I have,’ he said, relieved. ‘Thanks for letting me know. I was worried they might come and take it while I was having a kip. Jolly good.’

  ‘They?’ said Ryan frowning. ‘You mean…’

  ‘… them fellas without any faces to call their own?’ finished the man. ‘Yup. Dunno why, but they can’t abide a face round here. Even one as beautiful as mine.’

  He gave a great, wheezing laugh that trailed away into a long, hacking cough. Ryan wrinkled his nose at the sound and looked away.

  ‘Hey.’

  The man tapped him on the shoulder and he turned back.

  ‘They didn’t follow you here did they?’

  Ryan shook his head.

  ‘I lost them when the power went down.’

  The man relaxed.

  ‘Oh good. Took me ages to shake them off. Had to head down into the sewers to get them off my tail. Now it seems that the sewers have come up here for the night, so I guess I don’t smell so bad.’

  At that moment the headlights of a car illuminated the street. Strange shadows jumped and flickered across the buildings in eerie synchrony, and they bowed their heads to escape the vehicle’s angry glare. They were not, however, protected from the wave of sewage it threw up as it passed by and, as Ryan felt a stream of filth trickling down his neck, a long-suppressed rage suddenly ignited within him.

  ‘Son of a...!’ he yelled, jumping to his feet and punctuating his outburst by hurling a empty can of beer down the road in the direction the vehicle had gone.

  He watched as the can skidded and clattered to a halt on the damp asphalt. There was no sign of the vehicle, yet it had passed only a second before and there were no side roads it could have turned down. Weird.

  Ryan shivered as the brooding night took hold, and yearned for something familiar to appear that might take him away from this godforsaken place. He turned to sit back down and stopped. Across the street behind him the faceless hordes were massed. Hundreds, if not a thousand or more, standing in rank and file. Motionless. Staring at him.

  He gave barely a thought to how a person with no face could actually stare. All he knew was that he could feel their malevolent gazes upon him and that he had to move. He started to run.

  ‘Hey!’ he heard the vagrant shout.

  He imagined the dawning realisation on the man’s face when he saw what was approaching. There was nothing Ryan could do. He was no hero. He had to save himself. There were footsteps behind him but he dared not look back. In the distance, almost disconnected from the world he now found himself in, he heard a faint scream.

  Ryan knew he had to get off the streets; they afforded little cover and appeared to go on forever in a vast, featureless maze. He longed to get out of the city and find some countryside; somewhere with nooks and hollows where it would be easy to lie low and plan his next move. All he could do for now though, was run.

  Suddenly an alleyway opened up to his right. It was hard to tell whether it had been there a moment before, but now it yawned invitingly at him. Ryan dived into it.

  The sound of his footsteps resounded loudly off the dark walls. Or maybe it was his pursuers gaining on him. He passed several large bins and thought for a split-second about jumping inside one, but the faceless ones seemed to have a knack for finding him. Even with no eyes to see, nor nose to smell, nor ears to hear, they appeared to sense his presence.

  The alley took a left turn and he followed it. More bins passed by, while above him the lowermost rungs of fire escapes hung agonisingly out of reach. Ahead of him he could see yet another road opening out and, beyond it, the dark mouth of another alleyway. He dashed across, catching fleeting glimpses of the faceless mob to either side of him; reaching out, clawing their way towards him.

  In a heartbeat he was in the alley, surrounded by the clamour of footfalls on wet ground. He knew now that these were more than just his own. He willed himself forwards, but his heart sank as another wall appeared, looming out of the blackness in front of him. This time the alley took no t
urns.

  Dead end.

  Ryan slowed to a walk as he reached the foot of the wall. He almost expected to see ‘Game Over’ tagged all over it in spray paint. He had nowhere to run now. The echo of footfalls subsided and an uneasy stillness descended upon the alley. Slowly he turned round.

  They were there; hundreds of them, again standing in rank and file, motionless and menacing. At their head stood a man with a shock of messy hair, wearing a tracksuit and a tatty jacket; the vagrant, now as faceless as the rest of them.

  Ryan was desperate. He knew deep down that the last thing on earth he wanted right now was to become one of them. He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out an old torch he’d been carrying. It had long since ceased to work and he wished it was something more substantial that could get him out of his predicament. In desperation, knowing it to be a hopeless gesture, he turned and tried to shine it at the top of the wall. If there was any way for him to get up there he had to find it.

  Click went the button.

  There came a whirring noise and the whistle of something flying through the air. Puzzled, Ryan looked down at the torch and saw an impossibly long length of wire shooting from its end. He looked back up at the wall just in time to see something metallic sail over the top. The line went taut.

  Ryan could not believe what he was seeing but, sensing that the crowd behind him were advancing, he thought he might as well make the most of