Gaia Dreams (Gaiaverse Book 1) (6 page)

Samantha opened her eyes and slowly focused on
Jessica. "Oh Mommy," she wailed, "I was in the water, lots and lots of big
water--I was lost 'cept I wasn't me now, I was a big person then a littler
person and everybody was in the water, but then there was lightning, too, and I
wasn't in the water, and then I was all alone and I couldn't find you or daddy
or Harry or anybody and then I was really scareder cause I couldn't breathe--"

"It's okay, honey, it's okay. You're safe now.
It was a dream, a bad dream. It wasn't really real. I've got you now."

Pulling Sam onto her lap, Jessica continued to
soothe her distraught little girl. "See, here's Daddy and he's got some juice
for you to drink and Harry is here--John, look at Harry," Jessica said sharply.

Harry was sitting at the foot of the twin bed,
trembling severely. John sat down next to him and talking softly to him,
rubbing the fur on his back. The shivering gradually subsided and John looked
at Jessica questioningly. She shook her head and mouthed the words "Not now,
talk later" over Sam's head.

"Mommy, do you really think it was just a bad
dream? Cause it was real and I was there, but now I'm here...."

"Dreams are like that, sweetie," Jessica
answered. "Sometimes they seem so real, and then you wake up and find out they
weren't real after all. Now, what would you like to do? Do you want to try
going back to sleep or do you want to stay up for a while?"

"Can I watch one of my movies on the TV?"

"Sure, that's a good idea. Come on, Daddy and I
will get you and Harry settled in the den with a movie. Then we'll make some
snacks, okay?"

"Okay, Mom," Sam replied. She climbed out of the
bed and walked with Harry into the den.

Later in the kitchen, John and Jessica faced
each other in puzzlement. "What the heck is going on here, Jess?" John asked. "Is
it the fever starting up again? She looked sweaty to me."

"No, I checked her. That was caused by fear of
the dream, not the illness. I guess she just had a nightmare, John."

"Okay, she had a nightmare. Did Harry have the
same nightmare? Have you ever seen a dog look that scared before?"

"No, no, I haven't. But maybe he picked up on
Sam's fear level. They're really close...."

"I'm not sure I buy that, Jess. Something about
this feels weird to me. It was eerie in that bedroom just now--Harry shivering
uncontrollably, Samantha gasping for breath, then talking about what sounded
like drowning--I don't know. It all seems pretty strange. Supernatural or
something."

"John! I can't believe you're saying that. It
was just a dream! A little girl's nightmare, probably brought on by all the
medical tests she had to go through and the symptoms of the illness, plus all
the news coverage of the death and injury out in California. That's all it
was--a dream," Jessica said definitely.

She hugged John reassuringly and then turned to
the counter to make hot chocolate. John watched her, a frown creasing his
forehead, wanting to say more, but unsure what he could say to explain the
feeling of dread that clung to him still.

Sonoran Desert, Arizona

"What are we talking about here? You're saying I'm
going to feel like a hawk when I do this? I'll become a Red-tailed Hawk?" Margaret
asked.

"You won't become an actual hawk, Margaret,"
Irene stated patiently. "However, your thoughts and feelings, your sense of
your body, will all become that of the hawk."

"Wait a minute," Margaret said, becoming
agitated, "you mean if the hawk gets hungry, I'll know what it is to eat what
they eat? What do they eat?"

"Rodents, carrion, amphibians, fish, although
there aren't any fish nearby--"

"Hold it right there! Rodents? No way," Margaret
declared, gagging at the thought.

The shaman stared at her calmly for a moment. "This
isn't about having dinner with a hawk. Now focus on the light of the campfire
here."

Margaret stared at her. "Nothing fazes you, does
it? This is all just perfectly natural, sitting here talking about me becoming
one with a hawk. Don't you find it all just a little bit strange?"

The shaman thought for a moment and replied, "Of
course this situation now is extraordinary. You are a white woman, not one of
us. You grew up in a culture that does not believe in things like
shape-shifting, so it is hard for you to grasp it, to believe in it. For me, it
is normal because my culture taught me to believe in it. The strangest thing is
that the voice of the earth--Gaia, as you call her--has chosen you to hear her
message. This is very strange to me."

"Okay, I'll buy that," Margaret said. "Now, tell
me again why I need to do this?"

"Hopefully, it will allow you to hear the voice
more clearly. My people believe the earth speaks to the nonhuman creatures
more easily than to humans."

Margaret lay flat on the ground, feeling the
dirt beneath her, feeling the planet herself, a thrumming of life all around.
Turning her head to stare at the fire's flames, she heard Irene's slow, steady
voice saying, "Let the wind take you, feel the strength of your wings as you
float on the night air...."

The shaman watched the hawk perched on the
branch of dead wood in front of her. Its mahogany eyes with black pupils stared
back at her attentively from a head clothed in deep brown plumage. The creamy,
off-white feathers of its chest were covered in elongated tear-drop shapes of
chestnut brown, looking painted on by a water colorist. A bright, sunny yellow,
narrow band crossed the bridge above its curved black, hook beak and also outlined
the wide mouth. Paler yellow feet, ridged with scales, ended in shiny black
talons. Thighs covered in fluffy milk-white feathers supported the sturdy body.
Slowly the hawk turned its back to her, preparing to take flight. The shaman
smiled when she saw that the tail feathers were the same auburn, reddish gold
color as Margaret's hair, with a band of black running in a straight, thin line
a half inch from the end. An interesting coincidence, she thought. Above them,
over the back of the hawk, were silky, chocolate brown feathers with tiny
flecks of white. The bird glanced back at the shaman, who was struck by the
intelligence in the beautiful round eyes, and then spread its brown wings to a
span of almost five feet and rose to the air.

One, two, three beats of powerful wings and then
the rush of air passing over feathered wings, the power, soaring high above
land. A Red-tailed Hawk circled, and then, flying high over the desert,
listened to the voice of the planet, hearing the message with crystal-clear
clarity.

A city that never sleeps, taking over the earth,
the sand, bringing water where there was none, plants die, animals die, the
city will soon be stopped.

In its mind's eye, the hawk saw large neon signs
reaching for the stars. The shaman watched, alarmed as the hawk faltered in
flight, and then wheeled back returning to the campsite in the Arizona desert.
Margaret opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. Holding her wing, no, her hand in
front of her face, she immediately patted her body, reassuringly human, as the
pupils of her eyes seemed to enlarge, taking over the normal emerald hue.

Sitting up suddenly, Margaret said, stricken, "Oh
my God--Las Vegas!"

Las Vegas, Nevada

The desert night was illuminated by the
sparkling lights of Las Vegas under a full moon. In a casino on the main strip
downtown, Oliver Trundell and his wife Beatrice, on vacation from Tulsa,
Oklahoma, were eating breakfast at the restaurant that stayed open all night.
They talked excitedly of increasing their winnings at the roulette wheel once
their hunger was satiated. Just as Oliver opened his mouth for another bite of
pancakes dripping in melted butter and maple syrup, a clattering sound caused
him to glance out the plate glass window next to his booth. A baseball-sized
piece of hail crashed through the glass and lodged itself in the middle of
Oliver's forehead. Beatrice had time to scream before a spear of window glass
pierced her throat as efficiently as an assassin's knife.

Tom Hanover panted heavily in the king-sized bed
as he thrust himself into the highly-paid prostitute beneath his 286-pound
body. The podiatrist convention was over and Tom was taking advantage of his
last night in town to live dangerously. He'd paid extra not to have to wear a
condom. He heard the woman's moans and gasps with delight. He really was that
good, he thought to himself admiringly. Then he heard the sound of glass
breaking and wind howling, before his body was pummeled to a pulp by hail.

The radar screen beeped in the meteorology
office at the local Las Vegas TV station. Randall Quinn glanced casually at the
screen, and then leapt to his feet. He'd never seen anything like it before.
One minute the screen was clear, the next it was covered in the bright red that
signified the strongest storms. As he was calling out to the morning news
producer, the offices went dark and the computer died, along with Randall
Quinn, who was smashed flat by the weight of the collapsing building.

The coyotes in the desert surrounding Las Vegas
were joined by birds, snakes, roaches, rats and other assorted creatures that
had fled the city minutes before the storm began. They watched in silence as
hail and wind beat the city into a pyramidal mound of rubble and ice.

Fort Walton Beach, Florida

Lisanne Locklin did not want to get out of bed.
Her short black hair was sticking out from under the covers like a spiky plant.
She closed her eyes as she pulled the cotton sheets more firmly over her head.
Yes, she needed to get up and go the bathroom and yes, she didn't really like
the taste of her morning mouth, but it was so dark and comfortable in her
cocoon of eggplant--dark purple, really--sheets that nothing could get her out of
bed. Well, okay, maybe the need for coffee could, if she thought about it for
very long, nothing like the first cup of French Roast with a splash of cream,
but no, she wouldn't think of it just yet. The pressure of paws walking along
her back brought her awake again. Lisanne groaned. The cat would never let her
sleep in. Merlin was a large black cat with gold eyes that seemed to glow in
the dark. Lisanne and Merlin had been together for eight months, during which
Merlin had forced her out of bed every morning before seven. Lisanne was not
happy with this development as she'd always been a night person. However, she
loved the big black cat and was slowly becoming resigned to facing the day at
times she considered ungodly.

Throwing the sheets off so that they covered
Merlin, Lisanne slid out of bed, saying, "Just once I'd like to sleep till two,
you hear that you big lug? Why do I put up with you?"

The response was a growl from under the tangled
sheets.

Lisanne laughed and managed to walk into the
bathroom, barely missing the door frame. Looking into the mirror, she groaned.
Short, jet-black hair jutting out in all directions, violet eyes with angry red
veins streaked through the whites, long black eyelashes mashed crooked from
sleeping with her face buried in the pillow, and blue-black shadows under her
eyes contrasted with a pale white face. Purple lipstick outlining pink lips
remained on a mouth that grimaced back at her.

"Way too many margaritas last night...look like
I've been hit by a Mack truck and dragged along I-75 for thirty miles or
so...death warmed over one time too many. You woke me up for this, Merlin? You're
a cruel, sadistic cat."

Merlin rubbed up against her leg, purring.

"I gotta pee like a racehorse, whatever that
means. Do you know what that means? I always heard that saying, but I have no
idea how racehorses pee. Go on, scram," she said, gently pushing the cat out
the bathroom door with her foot.

Cape Fair, Mrs. Philpott's House

Mrs. Philpott stretched and sat back from the
computer. The dream was similar to her earthquake dream in that she felt she
had lived through the experience--only this time it was a hurricane, not an
earthquake.

"I wonder if I'm overreacting," she said to
Perceval as she gently scratched behind his ears. The sound of purring was a
relaxing accompaniment to her voice speaking quietly of things she wished she
didn't know. "If I'm right, that hurricane is going to happen, and happen soon--and
a lot of people are going to die. Is it because of the oil refineries along the
Gulf Coast and the oil rigs out there in the water? One thing's for sure, those
rigs are going down if my dream was accurate. But isn't there any way that
people could be warned so that all of them wouldn't have to die?"

The Siamese looked straight into her eyes and
Mrs. Philpott sighed, and then continued. "I know. It is going to take a lot of
death and destruction to get the attention of such a large population. Where
will it all end, I wonder? Is humanity ready to listen, will anything get them
to listen and change their behavior? If my years with the government taught me
anything, it is that people will go to amazing lengths to satisfy their own
desires, their own greed. Usually to the detriment of others. Our culture's
story tells us we are the superior end to evolution, the ultimate creation. We
expect the planet to provide for us and bend to our will, no matter what the
cost, no matter what level of damage we inflict. Well, now I guess it's payback
time. And payback's a bitch. Now that's a phrase I haven't used in about twenty
years!" She sighed. "Lots of changes ahead, my friend."

The cat rubbed his head against her hand and
arm, knowing she was scared. Then he jumped up to the computer keyboard and
slowly pushed the keys with his nose. His message was printed on the monitor
for Mrs. Philpott to read:

TIME TO TELL J AND J ABOUT DREAMS

HURRICANE

WILL BELIEVE WHEN COMES TRUE.

"Of course. You're right. This is the perfect
chance to open their minds to what is going on. And we'll need them believing
soon, to prepare for what is to come. Decisions will have to be made. And
tomorrow--rather, today--the sun's up--I'm going to Springfield to that new
computer store. There's got to be an easier way for you to use the keyboard. I'm
sure I read somewhere about accessories developed for people with disabilities."
She stood up from the desk and turned to leave the room, saying, "Come on, let's
go raid the refrigerator. How about leftover roasted chicken for you and
vanilla fudge ripple ice cream for me. Could be the last of the ice cream, you
know. Hmm, need to check in the attic and see if I still have that old ice
cream maker you turn by hand."