One
The dream usually came after hard days in the shop. Stress could trigger it; even talking about the old days set off the memories and gave his mind the fuel to ignite the flames of the subconscious. The dream was always the same, maybe some slight variations in minute details, but the end result didn’t change, ever.
Cameron Blackwell, or Cam to most everyone, was sleeping in his upstairs room at St. Joseph’s. The church orphanage had taken him in a long time ago. Truth is this was the only home that the seventeen year old had ever known. Father Constantino has cared for the boy his entire life and was watching him grow into a respectable young man.
Cam tossed on his twin mattress as the nightmare began to grip his mind. Sweat rolled into his closed eyes going unnoticed as he began to talk in his sleep. The street light outside of St. Joseph’s dimmed and brightened illuminating the small calendar on Cam’ desk, next to a picture of him and Johnny in front of Johnny’s prize 1955 flatbed Chevrolet. The date was September 3, 2030, but in his mind it was five years earlier.
* * *
It was Johnny’s screaming that brought Cam out of the office and into the main garage bay. Those shrieks echoed through the shimmering dream world around Cam as a twelve year old version of himself came running into full view of Jonathan Woodward.
“Oh my God, Johnny” Cam shrieked running towards the car in a dreamy slow motion. As he moved closer he saw his friends legs jutting out from underneath the old rusted Chevy. Johnny had been attempting to replace the transmission when the hydraulic lift failed pinning his upper body between the beastly automobile and the cold concrete.
Johnny yelled in unintelligible agony, not noticing the young boy. Cam grabbed the chrome bumper of the ‘57 Bel Air and yanked up with all his twelve year old might.
Nothing.
He readjusted his grip and tried again only this time his foot slipped in the growing pool of blood that flowed out from the gap where Johnny Woodward’s lower torso and legs jutted out like a bug squashed deep into the grill of the vehicle.
“Johnny,” Cam screamed through the open hood.
“Cam,” Woodward responded weakly, “get help, please!”
“Everyone’s gone; I’m trying to lift it; I’m not gonna leave you,” Dream Cam began crying as he tried again to lift the close to thirty-five hundred pound car. Cam heard Johnny weakly wheezing as the pressure compressed his lungs empty of air. He was dying and Cam was watching helplessly.
“Johnny,” Cam choked out the name through tears and stressful dribble. He redoubled his grip on the lower lip of the bumper positioning his shoulders between the two wide-eyed headlights. Cam checked to make sure his sneakers weren’t sliding in Johnny’s blood and planted them firmly. The next part of the dream always happened incredibly slowly, unlike real life.
Cam clenched his eyes tightly and set his jaw, sucking an impossibly deep breath through his nostrils, and began to grunt as he struggled with the almost two ton hunk of metal killing his friend beneath. Veins began to pop out of Cam’s arms, neck and legs, glowing an eerie electric blue. He began to yell a guttural cry from the strain he was putting on his body. Cam’s normally grey eyes shot open revealing blackness with pupils outlined in silvery electric blue.
The car began to move.
Cam huffed as he moved the Bel Air inch by inch off of Johnny’s collapsing chest and mashed right arm. The higher he lifted the stronger he felt. Power seemed to roll through his skin like water flowing over a smooth rock. Cam continued to lift until the car was more than a foot higher than it needed to be and tossed the vehicle to the right of Johnny.
Cam breathed hard and fast, gulping large chunks of air as he bent and helped Johnny to his feet.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” Cam’s voice had an echoey, shimmering dream quality; “your arm is bad.”
Johnny couldn’t manage to get out many words, “How? How did you...?” he repeated them over and over. Cam helped him out of the garage heading for the office where they could call an ambulance.
They exited the garage to a horrific sight. As far as the men could see, there was no power, complete darkness; not only darkness, but everything was dead. All the grass, trees, and bushes, were a dead grey that was shriveled and lifeless. There were cars scattered around the street in both directions, crashed into poles, building, and anything in the way. Then they saw the bodies of the people inside of the cars, or lying on the sidewalks, chalky lifeless beings as dead as the grass and shrubs. It was here that the dream world began to break down; Cam could feel it coming like always. He sucked the dead air of the dream world deep into his imaginary lungs and screamed…
* * *
“THEY’RE ALL DEAD!” Cam screamed, as the street light outside of his window winked out. He shot up into a sitting position, with his long dark hair hanging over eyes that popped open as if they had never been closed in slumber. After a second of disorientation, he realized that he was sitting on his twin bed in St. Joseph’s. He shuddered, rubbing his sweat-soaked face hard with his trembling hands; Cam began to cry, like every other time the dream came.