Em followed the trail of dried blood, dark red-brown splatters scattered at random on the road. They led her inexorably on. Her sandals sent up little puffs of dust as she walked. The intense heat consumed the atmosphere and baked the land. But it wasn’t nearly intense enough to eradicate the reek of burned flesh and rotting corpses that assailed her as she moved forward, that gagged and choked her and made breathing almost impossible.
She covered her mouth and nose with her hands in an effort to mitigate the stench and plodded along doggedly. She had to find them. She did not look up, not even once, to examine the countryside or to scan the horizon. She looked only at the ground, her gaze never extending more than a few inches in front of her feet.
At last the blood trail ended in a large patch of freshly disturbed earth in the ditch beside the road. She dropped to her knees and began to dig, pawed at the ground with her hands like a dog searching for a buried bone, scooped handfuls of the soft, powdery dirt up and away behind her.
A few inches below the surface her hand encountered something. She continued to dig frantically, exposed an arm and then hair. She heard a young child cry and knew a deep desperation. She had to find the child. Had to.
She worked swiftly, ignored the nauseating odors, the blood and the rotting flesh. She brushed frantically at the maggots that crawled over her hands and up her arms, and continued to dig. The boy’s sobbing grew louder; transformed first to mournful cries of seagulls and then to bitter cawing. She looked up to a sky darkened with the wings of thousands of vultures. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly.
And still the boy cried.
She woke with a jolt, brushed her arms to rid herself of the maggots. Her stomach clenched spasmodically in revulsion. The silence surrounding her was broken a moment later by a dog as it shifted and yipped twice in its sleep. Reluctantly, she raised her arms and forced herself to look at them. They were insect-free and clean. She heaved a sigh of relief, reached down beside the bed to pet the dog. She gazed around her. Yellow walls, white window frames; outside the tree branches clouded with gently falling snow. Large flakes sparkled in the moonlight. Clean. Quiet. Calm.
She pushed herself to a sitting position. Bare feet hitting the cold floor jolted her fully awake. She rested her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hands and stared at the hardwood. Short media bytes played in her head, which didn’t compute since she'd stopped watching the news a long time ago. Of course she couldn't avoid hearing what people said, the discussions that raged about her, in her own staff room, her own house, at the gym. Teachers, kids, neighbors, everyone had something to say.
Miracle Madame this, Miracle Madame that. What haven’t I done? What will come next? Do “they” know what they are doing?
*
“Morning.” Sue, already at her desk, waved hello. “Hey, you look pale. Come, sit. Don’t move. I’ll get you some water.” Sue came back with a glass and hovered while Em sipped. “Better?”
She nodded. “Yes, thank you. Bad dreams is all.”
“God girl, what’s new about that? You always dream.”
Not like this. These dreams are tied to my new reality. And I don’t know if I can survive it.
She welcomed the warmth of Sue's hand on her shoulder as she rested her head on the back of the chair and stared at the ceiling. She’d seen mass graves, heard the crying too damn often. She thought she’d come to terms with it, but obviously she hadn't.
Two nights ago, was that the gray dream? High gray walls on all sides, as far as the eye could see. Gray skies above. The men facing her nearly indistinguishable from the rest with their gray faces, gray garb, and gray guns.
Simultaneous shots.
Her body had jerked back and folded in on itself as she absorbed the force of the bullets. Falling, all around her, bodies falling, blood spurting, bright red blots on the gray.
She had woken to the chill of pre-dawn air, slashes of red shooting across her line of sight. She squeezed her eyes shut. Still the red was there. She covered her ears in a vain attempt to silence the echoes of the guns.
She opened her eyes and scanned the room searching for reassurance in the familiar.
Everything gray in the murky half-light of early morning.
Shades of gray.
Reliving, in the dreams, what she had already done. She’d been there, at the firing squad, and not a shot had been fired. The condemned men were free. Thanks to me—and them. She looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know if I can take much more of this.”
“Of what?” Sue asked.
“Nothing.”
*
I watched Em and worried. The desperately sobbing boy she saw in her “dream?” Her son when he was little. The job was too much for her and I didn’t know what to do.
I would have liked to discuss my problem with other Powers, but asking questions would reveal my weakness. We Powers met regularly in the Grand Council lounge for debriefings with Mentor. I said as little as possible, but the others were confident and voluble. They were from the upper classes. I was a Drone. Enough said.
Clouds of fine silvery dust rose from the pages as I gently closed the ancient tome. I heard Mentor come in. Great. Just what I needed—her seeing me here in the library, knowing I was second guessing myself.
“Why the heavy research?”
“I do not want to overlook anything.” I tried to keep my voice casual.
“She is doing well.”
Surprisingly, this was not a question. “Oh, yes, even better than I had hoped.” Damn, too much excitement in my voice. I had to stay calm, stay rational but it was so hard. Em was so good, so wonderful. I couldn’t praise her enough.
“The right combination of qualities?” Oh, my Guardian, was Mentor teasing? “And she always has you.” Now why wasn’t that reassuring?
Because I was flubbing the support thing? I couldn’t have Mentor catching on. I’d have to shift the focus to my Little Soldier.
“Yes, but,” and here I know I sounded proud, “she is doing more and more on her own. Acting fast and making good solid decisions.”
Mentor nodded. “You are going to meet with her.”
“Not yet.”
“Why delay?”
“She needs more time to understand her strengths, experiment, make connections.”
“Ah, that’s what the dreams are for?” Damn, damn, damn. She knew about the
dreams. “Dreams have always been a part of her life. I don’t send them, but I think they are good for her. I think they help her keep an emotional balance. They’re an outlet of sorts.”
Mentor looked at me quizzically. “I suppose that’s an Earth thing, what with all that emotion down there.”
I nodded and then took a deep breath. “I’d like to ask you something.” I’ll never know how I found the courage to say that.
“Yes?” Ooh, boy, the tone of her voice, the arch of her eyebrow; no question I’d overstepped the bounds. I plunged on, helpless to stop myself.
“Why am I seeing this Ron person?”