The Big Sleep (Duology)

Chapter One - Awake

Beth wailed as my father deposited her on the ground beside me, an endless, indiscernible dirge for herself. Dad stroked her tangled hair, then took us both in with his sad eyes for a moment before finally turning to run to the water pump beside the barn. Beth's once diaphanous nightgown had been stained fully opaque and brown, her face marred with vomit, her hair matted with sweat. With my own filthy hands, I pulled chunks of muck off of her tiny body. Already a small girl, the days without food or drink had miniaturized her. As I stared at my sister's wasted body, a breeze swept across the fields and over us, bringing with it the familiar smells of home: hay and grass and apples and a touch of manure.

I revelled in the scents of the waking world, proof that our Sleep had truly come to an end.

Awake.

Alive.

Dr. Farrah and the Speaker's plan, though disastrous, must have worked: every person in the Green City--every person in the world--they had died in dream, bonded with a Greyman, been reborn. We were no longer human, but a planet of Dreamcallers.

A moment later, my father returned hauling a bucket in each hand, sloshing clear water onto the ground as he ran. I licked my lips at the sight of the refreshing liquid, then spat as I tasted my own mouth. He told us to close our eyes, then dumped the water over our heads before disappearing behind the barn again. Beth stared up at me, eyes vacant and even wider than usual. The burning anger I had felt toward her so recently for betraying the plan had fizzled entirely; it had worked. We were awake. We were fine. With the help of the moisture, I wiped Beth's face clean.

"It's all right now," I said as I washed her. "You're awake."

She did not stir at the news.

My father, still dry and covered in filth, returned with another two buckets of water and dumped them over on our heads. Beth blinked in the splash, seeming to finally rouse from her dream. She took in our surroundings: the trees that lined our front yard, the small herb and rock garden by the front door, our house. Laughing to herself like she had just remembered a private joke, she ripped off her dirty nightgown as she tromped across the yard to the pump. I joined my family at the water pump, and we took turns dumping buckets of water over ourselves and scrubbing at the filth caked on to our every crevice. We spoke little and, after a few moments, he abandoned the pump, walked to the laundry line, and pulled down a bundle stained sheets we'd left out to dry just before the Sleep had come. He tied one sheet around his shoulders, then floated over Beth and I, ghostly cape trailing in the wind, and wrapped us in the same.

All relatively clean, instinct and rumbling bellies drove us to mechanically build a small fire and gather some vegetables from the cellar, which, unlike our kitchen, had been secure against bugs and animals. My father sat at the side of the fire, radio in his lap, calling and checking with the locals while Beth and I prepared corn and beans over the flames and slowly filled our stomachs with whatever would fit.

"We're all fine," Dr. Farrah's voice came through the radio's speaker. "Seems the Sleep was only two days. Practically no deaths and barely any real illnesses. I'd like to get you three in for a physical this week, but I'm going to be pretty slammed. If you can give the girls a once over--"

"Already done," my father said. "Glad to hear your stunt in the square didn't spell our extinction."

"It never could have, Ned. Why do you think we woke up when we did? If you would just listen to me--"

A crackle and a pop.

"We did it again," my father said, a smile in his voice.

Miss Becky's voice responded through the crackling radio, "The organizers are already planning a festival for tomorrow night. You think you'll be able to make it?"

"Of course."

"Great. Spread the word."

Another crackle. Pop.

"Ned?"

"How are you feeling?"

"Worried, Ned. I don't think I can stay here any longer. This isolation... I was wrong to abandon the city. I should have stayed and helped. Maybe we would have been more prepared this time if I had stayed." As the man spoke, I recognized his voice. The Speaker of Dreams, my old mentor.

"You can't blame yourself. You're only one man."

"People relied on me and I just left. I have to come back."

"We'd love to have you. I could even arrange for you to speak at the victory festival."

"Victory festival?"

"Tomorrow night. Think you can make it?"

"Sure, Ned. I'll leave in a few."

My dad spent most of the night on the radio, spreading word of the festival and checking with neighbors and friends. After the things I had seen and experienced in the dreamworld, after sleeping for two days--I never thought I would want to sleep again. But as the speakers buzzed, and the fire crackled, and my father droned on in his rumbling, low tenor, my eyelids grew heavy.

"I'm sorry," Beth whispered. "I was so afraid, so confused. The fire in the square, the chaos, the violence--I didn't mean for that to happen."

I snuggled against her. "I know. Neither did I."

Beth and I curled up together and slept under the stars, blessed with one dreamless night.

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