The Zoey Chronicles: The Awakening (Vol. 1) (2 page)

I dreamt the strangest dream I had ever dreamt.

Three people stood in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by towering oak-trees. One was a tall man. He had a large, pink scar running down the side of his face. His hair was long and brown, falling down his back in curls. He held something in his hand. The sun peeked through the trees and it lit up brightly before he handed it to a woman.

She was the second person. She was young, very young, around my age. Her eyes were big and vulnerable. She stared at the man with unconcealed lust and affection. She took the object and put it in her pocket, and then threw her arms around him.

They embraced each other for a long time, and I felt jealous. Will I ever have love like that? I thought. Eventually
they pulled away from each other and then she kissed him. The kiss was the most passionate kiss I’d ever seen. He grabbed her by the shoulders and squeezed her tightly, and ran his hands up her back and into her hair. She bit his lip and ran her hands all over his body, moaning and whimpering in pleasure. The kiss seemed like it could’ve lasted forever, but then the third person spoke.

He was a young man. He was tall, not quite as tall as the other man, but tall nonetheless. His blonde hair was cropped close to his head, and his face was rough but handsome, with the faint shadow of a beard on his square jaw. He wore a tight-fitting t-shirt, which clearly showed his muscular arms and big shoulders, and when he reached up to tap the woman on the back, his muscles shifted. They looked powerful. For a second I found myself longing to be held by those big, powerful arms, and then he spoke.

“We must go,” he said.

The woman turned and looked at him. Her face was flushed. She looked annoyed. “Okay,” she said. “I know, okay.” She turned back to the man, who looked down at her lovingly.

“You have to,” he said. His voice was firm yet kind. “As much as it pains me, you have to.”

“I want to stay with you,” she said to the scarred man. She lurched at him. I thought she was going to strike him, but then she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him hard on the lips. At first he struggled, but then he returned the kiss, pulling her hips forward so that their bodies were pressed together.

After another long kiss he pushed her away. The sound of men shouting penetrated the trees and the man span around with panic on his face. “Go, now!” he said, without turning around.

The younger man grabbed the woman by the arm. “We must go,” he said.

“Galahad,” said the older man.

“Yes?” the younger man—Galahad—said.

“You are her guardian now. Protect her, and protect the child when it is born.”

He nodded. “I will, master.” He grabbed the woman and pulled her away. She wouldn’t move, so he pulled her more aggressively and finally she budged, but she didn’t take her eyes off the man for one second.

The man was still looking away. The voices were getting louder now. He glanced around quickly, and saw his beloved standing at the edge of the clearing. “I love you,” he said, and a tear fell down his cheek.

“I love you too,” she said.

“Do you have it?” Galahad said. “Do you have the key?”

The woman nodded and patted her pocket, where she’d stored the item the man had given her. “Yes,” she said.

“Then we must go,” Galahad said as he dragged her into the trees.

Her cheeks were red and she started to sob, and before long she had disappeared into the trees and the man was in the clearing alone. The voices got louder. It sounded like a group chanting or shouting. The man started to shake, his hands quivering ever so slightly at his sides. He rolled his neck, and in the sun I could see that that too was covered in scars, pink like the one on his face.

Finally the voices reached a crescendo and the men broke through into the clearing. There were too many to count, but they were all behind one. He was a monster of a man, with hulking arms and a neck thicker than his head. His eyes were hard and his fists were clenched at his sides. His underlings looked like goblins following a giant.

“Where is it?” he said. His voice was deep and resounded around the clearing like a drumbeat.

“I don’t have it,” the man said.

“Give it to me,” the giant said. “Now.” He took a step forward and the men behind him started to giggle and clap, and look on with hunger on their faces.

The man flinched and shook, but didn’t take a step back. “No.”

The big man smiled. “No?” He turned to his group and raised his voice. “We don’t like that word, do we boys?”

The group agreed with their boss, jumping up and down and squealing. Some fell to the ground in their excitement, rolling around in fits of giggles. Others looked on sternly, only allowing a small smile to reach their lips. Most were somewhere in between, bouncing on the spot or licking their lips like hungry animals.

“You gonna change your answer?”

The man was shaking lots now, and his expression was one of total fear. His pink scar creased as he wrinkled his face and spat on the floor. He shook his head. “No.”

“Look,” the big man said, and this time he sounded a little kinder, albeit not much. “This is important. We must defeat the humans, and to do that we need the key. Now where is it? There’s no point fighting it. The old Order has been replaced. I rule the Order of the Undead now, and I say that we kill them. Why would you protect them? You are a good, strong vampire. Why risk your life to protect animals as primitive as humans?”

This is insane, I thought. Where was this coming from? I’d never had dreams like this before. This was so vivid, so real. It was as if I was there. I could smell the sap in the trees, the sweat coming from the men. I could hear the birds tweeting and see them flapping their wings in the sun-kissed sky. And vampires? Where in my subconscious had this vampire-dream come from? I didn’t know, and I didn’t understand what the big man was talking about. The Order of the Undead? Kill the humans? What did any of it mean?

“Tell me something,” the big man said. “This isn’t all about protecting that little pet of yours, is it?”

At that the smaller man stopped shaking and his scar straightened out. It looked more threatening when it wasn’t all creased up, just a long, pink gouge running down his face. He looked at the other man. “Call her that again and I’ll kill you.” He said the words plainly. I got the sense that it wasn’t an idle threat. He really would do it.

The bigger man bristled, but some of the power seemed to drain from his body, and his shoulders slumped. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” he said, and he sounded almost scared now.

“Don’t speak about her in that way, then.”

The crowd behind the big man looked confused and one spoke. “Boss, just finish him.”

“Yes, boss,” the scarred man said, stretching his arms and smiling. “Finish me.”

The big man looked at the group. Each man stared up at him sternly. I got the sense that he had to do it, that he had to impress his men, but that he didn’t really want to. “Have you got the key?” he said, turning back to the man.

“Nope,” the man said.

“Then this is the way it has to be.”

Without saying anything else he lurched forward. I was shocked at his speed. One second he was standing a few feet away, in front of his men, and the next he was standing a breath away from the scarred man. He lashed out with his huge arm, but the scarred man was also quick, and deflected the blow deftly, before sweeping his legs and knocking his opponent off his feet.

Or at least that’s what I thought happened. But the next moment it was the scarred man on his back, and then everything was a blur. The men moved too quickly. It was like watching two snakes fight. One would lash out, and then a fraction of a second later he would bring his arms up to defend himself. The other would block the blow and then strike one of his own, before blocking another blow, all in the space of less than a second.

All I could perceive were the sounds. Harsh, flesh-on-flesh sounds and the grunting of powerful men floated around the clearing. Coupled with the wolf-like growls and the hyena-like cackling of the crowd, it sounded like something you’d watch on the wildlife channel.

After about half a minute of blurry, unbelievably quick fighting, the men stopped and fell away from each other.

Both were mortally wounded. That was clear.

The big man had a gaping red wound in his shoulder, which he rubbed out uselessly as blood poured out. His face was a grimace of pain, and both of his legs had been mashed to pulp. He tried to sit up, but immediately fell back and moaned out in agony.

The scarred man’s face was a mask of red. Red tears fell down his cheeks. His pink scar had turned a dark crimson. It almost looked like he was wearing scarlet lipstick. His clothes were torn to pieces, like a bear had just clawed him, and his legs too were destroyed, the bones sticking out visibly through his tattered flesh.

The crowd was silent.

The big man was the first to go, his eyes falling shut after minutes of whimpering and moaning. His men crowded around him like piglets around a sow, bending down and pleading with him to stay alive. “Without you we’ll lose control, master,” one said. He stared up at them with blank eyes. He looked dead even before he closed his eyes.

The scarred man managed to sit up, his face contorting in pain. “Listen to me,” he said to the group. They turned and stared at him in awe. Even though he was critically injured, I think they were still scared of him. “This ends here. The Council of the Undead is no longer under you’re control. Your master is dead, and I hold the key. Tell your friends that this is over. Tell them that no longer will they talk of killing humans. We can hunt them. But no longer will we talk of killing all of them. Do you understand?”

The men looked around at each other. I hadn’t realised before, but they weren’t all men. There was one woman. She was short and had a sword strapped to her back. The hilt of the sword was shiny black with a diamond set in the bottom. The diamond didn’t glisten, but just glowed a dull green colour. She pulled out the sword and walked over to the man. “We will find the key,” she said, and stabbed the man through the heart. He fell back and his eyes closed. “We will find the key.”

~

I woke to Ben’s big blue eyes. “Zoey,” he said. “Zoey, are you okay?”

The sun burnt down, and I winced as it hurt my eyes. I tried to sit up, but the pain in my shoulder flared and I immediately fell back. “How long have I been out?” I said. I was sure that it must’ve been a few hours or more. The dream seemed to last forever. It wasn’t like other dreams. Dreams were meant to fade when you woke up, but I could remember this one vividly, like it was a film in my mind.              

Ben looked confused. “What do you mean?”

Again I tried to sit up, but the pain in my shoulder was too much. It was a dull thudding, and with each thud it spread down my arm and back up again, causing my whole left side to ache. I fell back. “I feel like I’ve been out for hours,” I said.

“Zoey, Jessica and her friends have just left. You’ve been on the ground for about ten seconds.”

I winced as pain ached throughout my body. It didn’t make sense. The dream had lasted for at least an hour. And what the hell was it about? Council of the Undead? I told Ben about it.

“That
is
strange,” he said, scratching his head. His eyes were purple where he’d been beat, contrasting with his bright blue pupils. “I didn’t know you were into vampires.”

I laughed, and immediately regretted it. Each chuckle sent shards of pain crawling all over my body. “I’m not,” I said.

“Well, it seems that your subconscious disagrees with you!”

“Yes,” I said. “It seems that way. Can you help me up?”

He nodded and bent down, and I put my hand on his arm. He was weak, and strained as he took my weight. I felt bad, but I needed to clean myself up. “Are you okay?” I said.

He was silent as he lifted me to my feet, veins bulging in his neck. Finally he responded. “Yeah,” he said, but his voice betrayed him. He sounded sad. I wanted to comfort him, but my shoulder was in so much agony that I couldn’t think about anything else. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” I said, knowing that he was lying but not wanting to confront it. “I guess we better go home.”

“Ha, at least one good thing came out of getting a beating.”

“How do you mean?” I said

“Well,” he said. “At least we don’t have to go to school.”

I smiled but didn’t say anything. I found it hard to be happy. As much as I hated school, I didn’t relish the idea of returning home to my mother in such a state. She’d undoubtedly be furious, and there was no telling what she’d do. She had never hit me, but that didn’t mean that she never would. Ben looked at me. “Do you want to come to mine for a bit?” he said as if he’d read my mind.

“What about . . .” I was about to ask, what about your father? But a fresh wave of pain washed over me, causing me to wince. I stumbled and had to dig my nails into Ben’s arm to stay upright. His face twisted in pain, but he held onto me tightly.

After I’d recovered we continued hobbling out of the school. The day was bright and the streets were quiet, except for a few birds tweeting in the trees and the occasional car driving down the street. “Don’t worry,” Ben said. “My father is away for a few days on a business trip.”

“Oh, okay then.”

He smiled. “So you’ll come?”

I nodded.

“That’s absolutely fantastic!” he said. “Brilliant!”

“Ben, calm down, I’ve been to your house before,” I said, and his face dropped. I smiled to take some of the sting out of my words. I don’t know why he was so excited. We were both in a state. We’d both just had the living hell beat out of us and he was getting excited over something as silly as me. I didn’t understand it. Why would he care that I was coming to his house? I’d been there hundreds of times.

“I know,” he said. “I just think today will be extra fun.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything. The few people that were on the streets regarded us oddly as we walked past. I couldn’t blame them. We must’ve looked weird, two teenagers, holding onto each other for support and hobbling down the street. It was only when we got to Ben’s house that I realised that they must’ve thought we were drunk. I laughed to myself.

“What’s funny?” Ben said as he opened his front door. I leaned on the wall outside his house, my breathing ragged. I clutched my shoulder and my eyes stung with tears. The pain was excruciating. It was probably the worst beating Jessica had ever given me, and she’d given me quite a few. One time she’d hit me so hard that one of my teeth fell out, and that hadn’t hurt as much as this.

“Nothing,” I said, grabbing his arm and limping into the house. His arms were skinny. I sighed. I knew it was shallow, but I preferred muscular men. I didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because I liked the idea of someone big and strong taking care of me. Momentarily I was reminded of the young man from my dream—Galahad. He was gorgeous, I reflected.

We struggled into Ben’s bedroom and I sat on the bed. He smiled at me. I looked around his room. It was covered in books, fantasy books mostly. I smiled. This was one of the reasons that Ben and I were such good friends. We both loved reading fantasy books. It made sense. We both wanted to live in a different world with different rules, where we could be what and who we wanted. I leaned down and picked one up, whimpering as pain surged in my shoulder.

It was one of my favourites. I’d read it many times. I opened it to a random page and started reading.

The knight jumped from his horse, his golden curls glittering in the midday sun. His armour was silver, and elaborate patterns adorned it like a tapestry. His rested an elbow on his sword and smiled a wicked smile. He was looking forward to this. His lady would be along soon, and he’d make love to her right here in the forest.

After a while he went and sat on a nearby log. His lady trotted into the forest on her pony, and her face lit up into a smile when she saw him. She jumped from the pony, her face red with desire. “My love,” she said. “It has been far too long.”

He didn’t say anything, but just stared at her intensely. The muscles in his neck were bulging and his jaw was clenched tightly. He was shaking, he realised. Why? He’d made love to his lady countless times. Why would he shake like a maiden? But then he smiled. He was happy that the sight of her still made him shake, happy that she still stirred him to nervousness. It just meant that his passion for her still burnt hot.

He walked towards her. He could feel sweat trickling down his back and sticking to his shirt, and his heart pounded in his chest. His lady stayed completely still, tense, waiting for him to touch her. He looked her up and down. Had their ever been a more beautiful creature?

He lifted his hand up to her face. His heart was a war-drum now, pounding relentlessly. It drowned out all other sound. The birds, the wind in the trees, the flow of the river—all became silent. When he finally touched her face, both he and his lady froze for a precious moment. He savoured the soft feel of her flesh, the scent of her, her beautiful eyes as they looked out at him with lust.

He would take her soon. He knew she wanted him to, but first he would simply touch her, and love her. He wished that this moment could last forever, but too quickly it was gone, and she jumped forward and kissed him fully on the lips, her tongue sliding into his mouth.

He moaned and grabbed her body, pulling it closer to his. He started to unlace her dress, and
—

“Zoey, do you want a drink?” Ben said.

I sighed and closed the book. I’d become so absorbed in the adventure that I’d completely forgotten where I was, and the pain in my shoulder. When Ben spoke it rushed back. So did my life. I wasn’t a knight’s lady, meeting him secretly in the forest. I was an ugly teenager with nobody but her childhood friend to keep her company.

I told myself to stop being stupid, that there were people with it far worse than me, but I couldn’t. I hated self-pitying people, and I’d always tried to not let myself become one, but how could I? My life was terrible and boring, and it didn’t seem to be getting any better. Ben was looking at me, clearly confused by my silence. “Yes,” I said.

When he left I struggled to my feet and stood in front of the mirror. I didn’t look injured, because the injuries were under my clothes, but I didn’t look good either. I was skinny, but not the attractive skinny that some girls are. I was bone-thin. My school uniform hung from me like I was a hanger. My hair was messy and bright red, and my face was snow-pale and plain, with a simple nose set above a small mouth. I sighed heavily and slumped back down on the bed. What use was it caring about what I looked like? I’d never be beautiful, so there was no point caring about it.

Perhaps I should pursue a romance with Ben, I thought. Why not? He wasn’t the worst person I could ever have had a romance with. He wasn’t exactly beautiful, nor my type, but he wasn’t ugly either. And he was kind to me. He loved me, which meant that’d he probably treat me nicely. I toyed with the notion for a long time, turning it around in my mind. But then I imagined him kissing me, his big blue eyes staring at me and his skinny hands all over my body. No. I couldn’t go there. He was my friend, my only friend. It would be like kissing a member of my family.

Thinking of my family brought my father to my mind. I took out the medal from where I’d hidden it. Had it been worth it? I’d spat at Jessica to make sure that she didn’t find it. I’d gone through the worst beating of my life, and for what? The medal was simple, with no writing on it, just a cool round piece of gold.

I held it close to my face, feeling the coolness against my skin. I wished for the thousandth time in my life that I’d known my father. My mother had told me what had happened to him. He’d died in a war before I was born, the war he won this medal in. But that’s all she would tell me.

If I asked for more information, she would swear at me and tell me to mind my own business, that it wasn’t my place to ask such intrusive questions. One time I’d pressed her, and she’d growled like a wild animal and hurled her bottle of whisky across the room. “You are a stupid little girl,” she’d said. “Never talk of your father! Never!” I’d ran to my room and cried, and to my surprise my mother had knocked on my door.

“What?” I’d said.

“Look, Zoey, I know I shouldn’t get this angry at you, but you are not to talk about him, okay? It makes me sad to think of him.”

I was stunned. That was the closest to an apology my mother had ever got. I was so naïve that I thought that after this brief connection she’d become more loving towards me. The next day I walked downstairs and put a hand on her shoulder, thinking that this was the beginning of our new loving relationship. She’d pulled away and looked at me in disgust, the smell of whisky strong on her breath. She didn’t say anything, but just walked away from me like I was nothing, taking a swig of whisky before she left the room.

I wiped a tear from my eye as I stared down at the medal. Why wouldn’t she tell me about my father? Didn’t I deserve that much? Didn’t anyone deserve that much? I wished then, not for the first time in my life, that my mother and I had a better relationship. Why did she hate me? What had I ever done to her?

I thought about it, seriously thought about it for a few minutes. Ben came in and gave me the drink, and sat down with a book. I grunted thanks. I was too young to have done anything when I was a baby, surely? But that was when she’d started hating me. My earliest memory was of her shunning me, and ever since then, except for the half-apology, she’d hated me with a fury. Everything I did seemed to annoy her.

What sort of a mother hates their child for no reason? I thought. Perhaps I had been an accident, and she resented me for something I had no control over. I’d never considered that before, but the more I thought about it the more likely it seemed. If I’d been an accident then it made sense that she would resent my existence, which she so obviously did. An even darker thought crept into my mind. Perhaps my father wasn’t the man I thought, perhaps my mother hadn’t been willing . . . no, I wouldn’t let myself think it. Even the thought of it brought tears to my eyes.

I gripped the medal hard and let out a whimper, and for a moment the emotional pain of my mother’s hatred dulled the physical pain of my aching shoulder. Ben put his book down and stood up. “Zoey, what’s wrong??”