Hurricane Heart

Hurricane

We ate in silence in the dark room, and I sat listening out for intruders. The doors were thick and the windows were reinforced, but the Soulless were developing weapons as quickly as we were, and there was no way of guaranteeing that they weren’t going to get in. I just had to hope that we could survive until we got back on the road.

Still, we had a plentiful supply of guns here; it was just more of a question as to whether I could trust Arjan with one if it came to it. I had already hidden the key on a chain around my neck, just in case—I couldn’t afford to let him get into that room. Mistakes could not be made at times like this.

I could see him shivering, and I was cold too. It would be nice to have a proper heating system, but it had not been possible to update every base. We still had the small electric heaters, which I’d managed to dig out and set up, but it had not yet been on for long enough to properly heat the room.

Arjan finished his meal and placed his plate on the table in the centre of all the seats.

‘Go help yourself to anything else if you like,’ I prompted. He hesitated, probably thinking I was about to drug him again, but I wasn’t. With an ever-so-slightly more forceful gesture, I made him get up and cross the room to the bag. He came back with some fruit and some biscuits.

‘Is there any chance you could tell me anything about yourself?’ he eventually plucked up the courage to ask.

I pretended to think about it for a moment.

‘Uh, no,’ I said bluntly. His face fell.

‘Nothing at all?’

‘You already know more than you should,’ I muttered.

He laughed dryly. ‘And what do I know?’

I gave him a dark look, trying to silence him, but we were at that point we kept reaching where he realised he could treat me almost how he liked. And it wasn’t right. He was under my control, therefore he should do as I said.

‘You know that I’m a Dreamer. You know that we’re being hunted.’

‘By who?’ he prompted. ‘Come on, at least tell me that. It might be helpful—then I can look out for them.’

‘I’m not sure you’d be able to tell who one of them is; none of them dress alike,’ I said. ‘But we call them the Soulless, if that makes you happy. It’s not their official name; they’re called different things in different places. Marauders; Snatchers; Dream-Killers, the Masked Ones...their real name is the Machine, but no one calls them that—everyone has a name that they prefer for them. But I call them the Soulless, and so does Carl. They hunt Dreamers; they try to destroy our dreams and imagination, therefore I see it fit that they’re as good as having no souls.’

‘Who are they though?’ Arjan prompted. ‘Do they work for the government?’

‘Not as such,’ I said. ‘But we Dreamers have rewards placed on our heads. We’re automatically wanted by the government, so if anyone turns any of us in they get some money for it. The Soulless make it their business to go around and seek out Dreamers and cart them off to the government in return for a monetary reward. That’s why they’re known as Foragers and Snatchers and stuff.’

‘What, that’s like their job?’ Arjan asked.

‘I guess,’ I said with a shrug. ‘But it’s not an official job. It’s like being a bank robber.’

‘I didn’t know bank robbers still existed,’ Arjan argued.

‘Well, they do,’ I said adamantly. ‘I was one of them once.’

He looked more eager to know things than I’d ever seen him. ‘You were?’

‘Yeah. How do you think we get money? We can steal food and clothes and stuff, but that’s the best way to get cash, isn’t it?’

‘Uh...’ he said, looking uncertain. ‘So, what did you do?’

‘It’s none of your business,’ I muttered. ‘Once again, I’ve told you too much.’ This was a dangerous place to be in. Once Arjan began to realise exactly how to get more information out of me than I wanted to give him, I was at his expense. I couldn’t afford to take that risk. I couldn’t keep telling him things. I shouldn’t have even told him about the Soulless—every bit of knowledge he had was a weapon he could use against me.

Would the ability to erase memories permanently be in function by the time I was done with him? I seriously hoped so, because I certainly wasn’t planning on keeping him. The second the Master said I could let him go, he would develop a serious case of amnesia and be out on his own. Then he could run away back to his precious family, and I could run back to mine. Well, my equivalent. I had no true family anymore.

He looked at me with curiosity, evidently testing out his new skill to the maximum. His eyes were not as full of hate as they usually were, and I could imagine that mine weren’t either.

‘Do you know where we’re going yet?’ he asked. ‘Or are we still just driving?’

‘Yep, still just driving,’ I said, turning away and standing up. I picked up his plate and mine, and placed them in the sink. I’d wash them later. I had to Arjan-proof the base first.

‘Where are you sleeping tonight?’ I asked rhetorically. He fell silent and fear crossed his expression. I wandered into the dorm room, and saw, conveniently, that it did, as I had hoped, have a lock and a key.

So Arjan was in there. But then where was I? Did I trust myself sleeping in the same room as him? He had already become wise to the drugs, but there was no reason why I couldn’t do it again. Coffee, perhaps...I’d make him another coffee and slip it in when I asked him to go and make up his bed or something.

Or I could just tie him up and be done with it. Or was that too harsh?

I didn’t know why I was suddenly afraid of being harsh on him. Being harsh and detached was better than being kind and emotional. It was how I had been for three years now. It was the best thing I’d learnt as a Dreamer. If you wanted to get anywhere in life, you had to leave everything behind.

I would tie him up. I would tell him to sleep on the top bunk—chances were those old, iron beds were creaky enough for me to wake up if he tried to get down them. And if I tied him up, then he wouldn’t be able to get out anyway. I had handcuffs somewhere...

‘Go use the bathroom or whatever,’ I said, disinterested, walking out of the door to where Arjan still sat on the sofa.

He got up quietly and disappeared into the bathroom. Five minutes later, he returned, taking off his jacket despite the cold, clearly hoping to get comfortable.

‘Go choose a bed,’ I said, gesturing into the dorm. He looked immensely relieved that he wasn’t about to be back in the prison room tonight, and hurried off inside.

I found him sitting on the bottom bunk of the bed nearest the door, plumping up the rather flat pillow and inspecting the ragged quilt for signs of bugs or mould. I didn’t blame him; this place was in better condition than the one in east Germany, but there was still no knowing how long it was since it was last used. It could have been months, weeks or mere days since a group of Dreamers last gathered here. I’d been around this area about a year ago, but it was both probable and hopeful that it had been used since then.

‘Give me your hand,’ I instructed. Arjan looked up from where he sat, and, whilst his eyes were alarmed, his muscles tensed and his jaw tightened.

‘No,’ he said, jerking his hand away.

‘Arjan, give me your arm, or you will be in the prison cell,’ I said.

‘You’re gonna tie me up anyway,’ he argued. ‘You’re a lying, cowardly bitch!’

I slapped him hard across the face.

He recoiled and cried out, and I continued to stare at him with venomous dagger eyes, shaking with anger. How dare he talk to me like that?

A red mark in a shape not so different from that of a hand print was growing on his left cheek. His eyes were wide, but they were filled to the brim with anger. He, too, was shaking with rage.

‘Get over there,’ I said quietly.

‘No.’

I strode forward, but he pushed me back forcefully. He tried to move away; scrambling backwards across the bed and moving his arms out of reach, but I was practiced, and I was too fast for him. I grabbed his right arm by the elbow, scratching it as he tried to pull away, wrenching it forward and locking it into the handcuff. I wrenched it sideways again, jerking him so that he cried out in pain. His free arm swung round, hitting me hard in the face, knocking me backwards as I cried out in pain. I caught his hand soon after, though, digging my nails in sharply as I forced it down on his lap until he gasped in pain, no matter how desperately he was trying not to show it. I was the fighter. I was experienced. He most definitely was not.

‘Get the fuck off me!’ he yelled.

‘Shut up!’ I warned, secretly worried. ‘They’ll come for us, Arjan.’

‘Maybe I want them to come!’ he yelled. ‘Anything’s better than you.’

His foot, still wearing a hefty shoe, made contact with my leg, knocking me a little, making me stagger backwards. I was ready. I had the gun. I was prepared to hurt him if that was what I had to do.

‘They will come, and they will kill you,’ I hissed. I shoved his arm towards the side of the bed, clipping the other side of the shackle into place and locking it there before he could pull away.

‘Let me go!’ he yelled viciously. ‘Let me go you bitch!’ He swung and kicked at me, his free hand colliding with my shoulder before I could get away, clawing at me until I wrenched myself backwards. He practically pulled the bed out of the ground in his anger, but he was attached now, and he couldn’t get away.

‘You’re staying there, Arjan,’ I said. ‘And if there’s one more word I’m shutting you in that cell, and I’m not letting you out until they come.’

I marched out of the room, slamming the door and locking it as an extra precaution. It seemed I would have to sleep out here tonight, but what did that matter?

Still, though, the wall couldn’t mask the shouting. He went on for many minutes, until eventually those minutes turned into hours. He hurled abuse and insults through the walls, and even though I did not respond, he still knew that I could hear it.