Awakening: Dead Forever Book 1 (20 page)

What am I thinking? Forget the dream. Being afraid that life may leave is no way to go through it. That’s one sure way to ruin all the fun.

* * *

After traveling a great distance, we have left all civilization behind, and ventured to the land of brown. The barren scenery is uninspiring. Clumps of sagebrush off the highway, a barbed-wire fence now and then. Occasional dirt roads climb low mounds, otherwise the terrain is flat and featureless. The highway is down to one lane in each direction, an endless straight line that stretches to the horizon.

Ahead is the first landmark in some time, a small sign quickly approaching. Difficult to read with a splotch of dirt covering most of it, but near the bottom looks like the word
farm.

Madison says, “Take the next turn.”

I slow the bike and exit the highway, onto a dirt road dropping fast into a rocky canyon. Madison holds tight as the bike dips and rises, rolling down the bumpy route, leaving behind a cloud of dust.

The road gets steeper, falling quickly, and the brakes are all that keep us from racing to the bottom. Like dropping from the clouds, the land of brown is gone when the road levels out and opens to a lush valley. In every direction are flowering bushes, sprawling ivy and scattered trees, moss clings to every rock. The road becomes a pair of thin strips worn out of the grass by a car or truck’s repeated travel. As we follow the route, a thickening forest rises at our flanks, towering higher until masking all but flickering patches of sunlight. The shaded air is moist and cool, a pleasant relief from the day’s relentless heat. The twin paths carved out of the grass end at a gravel driveway alongside a white picket fence. Past the low fence is the first structure we’ve encountered since leaving town—a funky old farmhouse, engulfed by a cathedral of plant life, sweetening the air with a magnificent, fresh scent.

“You can stop now,” Madison says. “We’re here.”

I figured as much, seeing how there’s nowhere else to go besides into the forest, a woodland so dense it’s hard to imagine a motorcycle making it through. We coast to a stop and Madison springs from the seat. The afternoon has fully arrived, bringing with it columns of sun that break past the trees, warming the moist air. She slips out of her jacket and tosses it over the seat, next to mine, and we hang our helmets from the handlebars.

As we pass through the fence gate and approach the farmhouse, the front door swings open and a man steps out on the porch. He’s older and somewhat round, wearing overalls, and he has a white beard without a mustache. A funny-looking beard, shaped to follow the contour of his jaw, like a disk supporting the rest of his head. He’s completely bald in front, but long white strands flow from the sides and back, down onto his shoulders. He crosses the porch and bounces down the steps, his eyes cheery, his smile warm.

“Hello, Maddie, Adam. How are you kids today?”

Madison accepts his embrace. “Who you calling a kid?” she says. “I’m as old as you, you old fart.”

He leans back, holding her shoulders and looking her over, and his smile grows.

Madison says to me, “You remember Mac, don’t you?”

I don’t want to appear rude. It’s completely embarrassing when you’re introduced to someone you should already know, like they were so uninteresting that you didn’t bother to remember their name. Not very flattering.

“Hi there, Mac,” I call out with an air of familiarity. “How you been?”

He scowls, eyes nowhere near cheery. “Don’t bullshit me, Adam. If you don’t remember, just say so. You have a perfectly good excuse. I know what you’ve been through.”

My confident gaze drops like a brick. I’ve been caught making an ass of myself.

“It’s okay,” he says, stepping closer. “I wouldn’t remember me, either.” He slaps my shoulder and bursts a big belly laugh, “Ho ho ho.”

His eyes resume the cheery sparkle, and his rosy cheeks get rounder as he pulls a wide smile. A jolly old fellow, when he’s not so dark and serious. But I guess he wasn’t serious. A joke, at my expense. Madison laughs along with Mac while I stand here waiting for the embarrassment to fade, and wishing it would hurry up.

“So tell me,” Mac says, “what brings you kids all the way out here this fine day?”

Madison says, “I brought Adam to see the farm. I was trying to help him understand a few things about sex, and thought seeing the farm might help.”

“Understand what?” I ask. “How animals fornicate?”

Mac chuckles, ho ho ho, and his middle jiggles. “Maddie, my girl, a splendid idea.” He rattles my shoulder. “Come along, my boy, there is much to see. And trust me, after today, you’ll understand plenty.”

* * *

Inside the farmhouse, the living room has walls of knotty pine, and furniture with wooden arms and flowery cushions. Doilies are spread across the coffee and end tables, not what I’d expect from a man of any age. Looks more like grandma decorated the place. Past an arched portal is a contrasting kitchen, more a technological decor, with pristine white countertops and stainless steel appliances, neutral walls and cabinets, all sparkling clean. Mac passes through a sliding glass door that opens to the backyard, populated by thriving plant life that blends with the tall forest beyond. Mac must be one hell of a gardener, a real green thumb.

We follow him along a trail that winds into the woods. He babbles while pointing out the sights, but I’m distracted by activity in the surrounding forest. Leaves rustle and branches crack. I scan between the timbers, searching for the source. There it is again, a rustling now joined by grunts and squeaks, and it’s moving. Then the explanation darts out from behind a bush—a man chasing after a woman, both running through the forest
naked.

My attention rockets back to Mac. “What is this? A nudist colony?”

He stands proud, arms folded and smiling. “That’s some of the latest harvest. Looks pretty good, eh?”

“Harvest? What kind of farm is this?”

“Why, a body farm, of course.”

“A what?”

He laughs, ho ho ho. “Which part don’t you understand? Body, or farm?”

“You make bodies here?”

“Yep, that’s what I do. The best bodies around.”

He continues hiking the trail and calls for us to follow. Madison takes my hand and pulls me along, but my baffled mind can’t keep up. Within the forest, bodies wander aimlessly, all naked. Not all without aim—a guy with a boner is chasing after a pair of girls. I guess one’s not enough. More females roam about, and a group of guys are huddled a ways off, doing nothing really, just gazing at the scenery with a dull stare, until they notice the females and chase after them. Nearby, a couple is . . . no, that’s not right. Come on, get a room.

Ahead, a male is standing near a bush, just off the trail. As we approach, Mac stops and points at the guy. “Take a look at this model. Sleek, trim, sure to please. Stellar performance, the best in its class.”

He talks like he’s selling cars, pointing out the fine workmanship as he describes key features. But I can’t argue, the guy is fit, well-toned muscles, handsome even. I wouldn’t mind having a body like that.

“Is he a person?” I ask. “Or . . .”

“Not yet,” Mac explains. “Just a vehicle, awaiting a proud new owner.”

Yeah, I think Mac’s last job was a used car salesman.

I creep closer and study the male. His dull gaze seems to stare right through me. “Then nobody’s home.”

“So to speak,” Mac says.

The guy, vehicle, body, whatever he is, cocks his head and notices a female moving past. He takes off chasing after her.

“Where’s he going?”

Mac watches the fellow vanish in the forest. “It would appear that unit is interested in mating.”

Unit? Nice way to refer to someone. About as personable as subject.

“So he’s off to make more bodies.”

“Oh no,” Mac says. “Outdated methods like that are far too inefficient. We have strict deadlines to meet. The conventional approach would never do.”

“Deadlines?”

Don’t tell me—like an auto factory.

“Of course,” he says. “Demand is high during this time of war.”

“What’s war got to do with it?”

Madison says, “Don’t you remember?”

“What’s to remember? A bunch of naked people running around the woods?”

Mac’s big belly wiggles. “Ho ho ho! Not a bunch, a batch. They don’t grow on trees, you know. And this is an exceptional batch, if I do say so myself. One of the finest yet, and produced in record time.”

Mac has one hell of a job. What a pain in the ass, babysitting all these people while they grow up.

Madison says, “Adam, tell me, where do you think that body came from?”

She’s pointing at me.

“You mean, this body?”

“Yes, that one, right there.”

“I couldn’t really say. My memories of childhood seem to be washed away with all the rest. I’m starting to remember some, but nothing that far back.”

Madison glances at Mac, who matches her expression of concern. Or is that surprise?

“I see,” she says. “So tell me, Adam, what do you remember about the war?”

“The war? I’m not sure. I fought in it, I kind of remember that. Most of it’s still fuzzy like a dream, but I’m pretty sure the memories are real.”

“Okay, so you fought in the war. Then answer this—did you ever die in battle?”

Did I die? I must have, no one is invincible. But I must search deeper. A faded memory comes to me—the sky is darkened by black smoke, and the air is acrid with the tang of discharged weaponry. Foot soldiers charge across a scorched landscape, advancing on an immense mechanized force. Our bodies against machines? Seems we have no other choice. Sizzling beams cross the distance and strike our column. Blades of light slice through my comrades—and me. I can feel an echo of the pain just thinking about it. Then I’m buckled down in a snug cockpit, soaring into a maze of scattering beams, and speeding toward a giant craft.

All white, nothing else. Only intense, bright light.

No—I don’t want to look at these memories. There’s too much pain here.

“Yeah, I died.” My voice crackles past my tightening throat. “More times than I care to recall.”

“Oh really?” she says. “So explain this—if you died, how are you standing here now?”

She’s getting tricky again, and as usual, it’s working. Of course I’m here now. I’m not a body, that’s how. After I died, I got a new one.

Oh my.

The past slaps me in the face—I remember this place. Well, not necessarily this particular place, maybe, or others like it. Body farms. Sometimes they were near the battlefield, other times in a large spaceship, if the conflict was off-planet. Where you go to get a new body after losing one in combat.

The astonishing truth hits me like a freight train.

“This body came from here.”

Mac smiles. “And a very fine product you have there, if I do say so myself.”

* * *

As we hike the forest path, assorted bodies roam about the woods. Large and small, different colors, light hair, others dark, an endless selection from which to choose, far more varied than simply a choice of male or female. I do remember this place, though not as a body like those wandering the woods. They seem to have little purpose other than staying alive. Many stare into the sky, as if waiting for their master, while others forage in bushes for something to eat. Then there’s the occasional couple exploring the joy of physical pleasure. I was here before, but not staring at the sky, looking for food, or having a good time. I had much more to do, and was gone as soon as I arrived.

Ahead, a female is standing near the trail. Mac and Madison pause while I take a closer look. She is beautiful, in great shape, and superbly configured. I should be attracted to her, but something is missing, I just don’t know what to call it. She stands perfectly still, gazing at nothing, no emotion really, just a loose smile. When I study her eyes, she stares straight through me. Then she reaches out to give me a hug, and starts humping my leg.

Not what I was looking for.

Mac and Madison laugh as I wiggle free of the friendly female.

A male is farther ahead. Maybe he has better manners. We approach, and like the female, he stares right through me with that same empty gaze. His eyes are strange—dull gray.

“Hey, Mac, what’s with their eyes?”

“This unit awaits a proud owner,” he explains, stepping closer. “Before delivery, the eyes have no real color, just what you see here. Once the owner takes possession, they add that unique flair. Just one of the many features their personality brings to the new vehicle.”

“Eye color is part of their personality? I mean, a person’s . . .”

“Of course,” he says. “Eyes tell us who someone is. A window to the soul, so to speak. And like a fingerprint, none are exactly alike.”

I shift to Madison, gazing at me from dark brown eyes, rich and creamy, subtle hints of amber. Is that her? I look deep into her eyes, falling into her steady gaze, watching me watching her. She is letting me in, past the walls we build around ourselves. I know those eyes—I see her in them. I have known those eyes for lifetimes.

This talk of eye color brings back the nightmare, and the woman telling me to put out the fire. One detail is so vivid, I can see it now—her tender blue eyes.

Another unit steps out of the forest and stands next to the fellow we’re inspecting. Huh? He’s an exact duplicate.

“What’s with this guy?” I ask. “His twin brother?”

Mac explains, “Our clientele may select any model, or combination of options, in advance. That way their new vehicle is ready to go at any time, or a fleet of them.”

“You mean, some real guy looks the same as these two?”

“Of course. Many customers are perfectly happy with their appearance and keep the style. Others change from time to time. It’s all a matter of personal taste.”

Beyond the twins, a female spies on us from behind a tree.

“What’s that one?” I ask, and step toward her.

Startled by my advance, the curious female whirls around and scampers away, rusty hair swaying as she vanishes in the woods.