10

I hugged my arms close to my body, trying to keep warm.

Go and get changed, the man had said. Where on earth was I supposed to do that?

I could try to access Jack’s memories again, but every time I did I felt like I was going to faint. My head was still reeling from everything I’d seen and heard. It seemed ridiculous to think that, not that long ago, I was getting ready for school.

I looked at my ruined surroundings. Rubble littered the empty floors. Paths had been cleared for people to move between them, but inside some of the buildings there was nothing but cobwebs and rocks. And the lights . . . they were everywhere. Even in the most destroyed spaces. Floodlights and spotlights, humming electronically as they beamed up into the sky, creating a huge protective barrier of light over the whole camp.

And above it, crackling and bubbling, was the storm.

The Darkness.

Gleaming light flickered inside it, making it look as though cruel faces leered down at the ruins. It was impossible to tell if it was day or night. Whenever the clouds slammed into the light barrier, they snarled and pulled back as if stung. Somehow, the storm couldn’t get through.

I swallowed to ease the dryness of my throat. There was a stale taste in my mouth, as if I hadn’t brushed my teeth for days. I wandered down a narrow alley, and suddenly I could see the Senate House. And King’s College next to it. Well, the remains of them, anyway. These were the buildings I knew, the streets I grew up on. But they weren’t my streets. My streets weren’t dotted with craters and rubble.

I spun round, taking it all in.

And that was when I saw it.

It was as tall as me, although it wasn’t human. It had tracks like a tank and a clear dome where its head should have been. It was some kind of . . . some kind of robot, moving debris out of the street with mechanical arms.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to wake up. Maybe if I tried as hard as I could, I’d open my eyes and be back on the side of the road, covered in rubbish. The cyclist would help me up and say, “Sorry!” and I could go to school and it would just be a normal day.

When I opened my eyes again, I was looking straight into someone else’s.

“Whoa,” I said, heart thumping. “Where did you come from?”

It was the girl from the storm. Iris. How could I have forgotten about her? Forgotten she almost died? But seeing her now, alive and well . . . my stomach floated in a way that felt alien—the kind of happiness that only struck when I was hanging out with Danny.

I was so startled that it took me a while to realize that she had been through Cleansing too. Wet mud streaked her cheeks and her threadbare clothes were sodden. Did I look as bedraggled as her?

“Thanks for helping me back there,” she said.

“It’s . . . er . . . it’s okay,” I said, even though I hadn’t really done anything. I mean, I had woken up here so quickly, all I had time to do was panic.

“We should get back to the hall. If we’re quick, we might be able to get to class in time.”

She set off up the road. I hurried after her.

“Class?” That sounded too much like school to me. Even though I had no idea what was happening, I knew one thing: I was still in control of myself. This may have been a dream, but at least I could do what I wanted. And I did not want to go to class.

“Er, yes. Class? You know, the timetable we have to stick to every day of our lives,” Iris said sarcastically, as if that explained everything.

The dirt on her face made the green of her eyes brighter than I remembered.

I didn’t know what to say. Well, I did know what to say—I just didn’t want to sound like an idiot. I just wanted to get out of here, to go back to being me. And I needed someone to help me.

“Iris, I’m not who you think I am.”

Iris stopped and stared at me. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not . . . look, I’m not Jack.”

“Yeah, whatever, good one,” she said, turning to walk off again.

“I mean it. I’m not him. I’m not from here at all.”

“Jack, don’t be ridiculous. I’ve trained with you since I was eight years old. I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

“I know you’re not. And I know you have. It’s hard to explain . . .”

Iris glanced at the robot, then turned back to me and whispered furiously. “Stop messing around!”

“I’m not messing around! I’m not like you. I’m not from around here. I mean, Jack is . . . I can hear his thoughts, I can see what he’s seen, but they’re not my memories. They’re his. And I need . . . I need to get out of here.”

The robot trundled closer. Iris grabbed me and pulled me out of the road.

“Keep your voice down!” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at me. “If you keep going on like that, they’ll send you to the Chamber.”

“What do you mean? Who’s they? And what’s the Chamber?”

“You’re not funny. I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but you can stop it now.”

“I’m not trying to do anything,” I said, struggling to keep quiet as frustration bubbled up inside me. “All I know is I woke up here in this place, and I want to get back. I just . . .”

I just what? How could Iris possibly help me? If this was a dream, I needed to wake myself up. An idea formed somewhere in the back of my mind. Maybe this wasn’t a dream. Maybe it was a nightmare. And in nightmares, it was always a shock that woke you up.

I thought back to when the storm got close, the seething tendrils reaching out. The closer they got, the colder I grew. Those memories shot through me, clear and icy as the winter sea. If I got close to the Darkness again, maybe the fright would be enough.

“Sorry. Just forget I said anything,” I said. I moved to walk away, but Iris grabbed my arm.

“Jack . . .” she said. “You’re scaring me. If the Cleansing didn’t work . . . please tell me you remember. I don’t want them to take you away. I don’t want you to become . . . to become Dreamless.”

Just then the robot stopped. There was a camera in its domed head, and it whirred as it turned to face us.

“Hello . . . STORMWALKERS,” it said, pausing clunkily between the words. “You should be in . . . CLASSROOM 3B for . . . HISTORY OF THE PRE-DARK WORLD.”

“I know, we’re going,” Iris said, dragging me away from it. The camera rotated to follow us, then the robot went back to cleaning up rubble.

I pulled out of Iris’s grip and backed away.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, as kindly as possible. “I’m not supposed to be here. Normally when you have a nightmare, you wake up when you realize it’s not real. But that’s not working, so I need to find a way to get back.”

“Jack . . .” she started to say, but I was already walking quickly away, looking for a route to the market square. “Don’t think I won’t report you, just because . . . just because we’re friends. Jack, please! Don’t make me call the guards! JACK!”

I ducked out of sight behind the nearest building, waiting to see if she would follow me, listening to the thump-thump-thump of my heart and the crackle of the Darkness above.

When I peeked round the corner, she’d gone.

And that robot thing—whatever it was—was still driving along the road.

The distant wailing siren had stopped. It must have been some kind of alarm to alert the camp to the danger. They were all here, living their lives, dealing with this every day. Just trying to stay alive so they could rescue the City and build a new home for their families.

Me . . . I’d prefer a lifetime of Shakespeare lessons over the Darkness.

I waited until I was sure Iris had gone, then crept through the ruined streets. The lights hummed around me, so bright I could see all the way to the edge of camp. In the middle of the dome was the market square. It was easy to recognize, because it was the only part of this dead world that still looked used.

The square was busier than the streets around it. Kids scurried to and fro, carrying containers and scrap metal or bartering at market stalls for food. Were all of them illegal duplicates like Jack was? Everyone wore the same dirty clothes, like a filthy school uniform. Above them, strung across the storm-eaten rooftops like washing lines, a series of wires emitted puffs of mist. I could smell the lemon balm from here.

And in the distance, behind the church’s clock tower, stood the hollowed and crumbled building that made Cambridge what it was. King’s College Chapel. In my world, it was tall and intricate and if you squinted you could make out little statues sitting in nooks and fine carving on the spires. Here, there were no spires. They’d crumbled and smashed on the road. The roof had caved in, and out if it now poured great beams of light.

Dad once told me you could climb that roof and see all the way to Ely. Here, you’d only see a hundred yards beyond the ruin, where the edge of the light met the endless black.

Dad . . .

A cold knot tightened in my stomach. If this was a dream, then it was getting worse. The one at school had only lasted a few seconds at most. I’d have to tell Dad now. He’d take me to see a doctor. They’d ask me all about Mum and the Longest Day and the L-word and I didn’t want to talk about that, didn’t want to even think about it, so I latched onto a happy memory and held it in my mind.

Football.

The academy scouts were coming, weren’t they?

If I could wake up. If I could get out of this dead world.

A sudden wail made me jump. I glanced up, holding my breath. A fresh scream tore through the air as the Darkness slammed into the light again. Motes of dust danced above me.

I had to try something.

The dry ground crunched beneath my feet as I crept toward the edge of camp. The hairs on my arms danced, and my skin felt twice as sensitive. Every breath of wind made me prickle. I glanced over my shoulder, making sure no one was watching.

I hadn’t seen anyone go out there since Quinn brought us back. And judging by the stuff they put me through, the film and the lemon balm and all those questions, they didn’t want anyone to try.

Up close, the light gave off waves of heat. The thrum of electricity was loud in my ears. The Darkness whooshed and wailed. What would happen if I walked right out?

Jack’s thoughts hung just out of reach. I could dive into them . . . I could find out. But if I was going to do this, maybe it would be better not to know. The raw, red marks on my wrists told me I could get hurt here.

I couldn’t remember ever feeling pain in a nightmare before. And I’d had some scary ones. Once I fell off the roof of a skyscraper. I’d been chased by monsters and aliens and fought against dragons, but every time anything really bad happened, I always woke up.

Maybe I didn’t have to go all the way out.

Maybe it would be enough just to get close . . .

One last glance over my shoulder. No one around.

I walked slowly up to the barrier, held out my hand. It was too big, like the rest of my features when I looked in the mirror at school. I didn’t need to see my reflection to know I had blond hair again. Jack’s hair and Jack’s hands.

I edged my fingers closer to the light. My quickening heart was almost as loud as the screeching storm now. It drummed against my shirt: thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.

Whispering broke out all around me, quiet at first, then louder and louder. A vision filled my mind, so sharp and clear. A grave. A headstone marked with a name. Caroline Smith. Mum . . .

I couldn’t breathe. The whispering came faster and faster. Impish faces appeared in the Darkness, just beyond the barrier of light, beckoning me closer.

Then a yell rang out—a loud, terrible yell.