The Colossus Rises. Peter Lerangis

I had visions of a blank sheet of paper with a big, fat zero. I willed myself to open my mouth. To tell them I was all right and had to get to school. But nothing moved.

      “A highly rare set of symptoms,” Dr. Saark said, “but it fits exactly into the recent research I’ve been doing…”

      Dr. Flood exhaled loudly. “We’re so lucky you were in town and could rush here at such short notice.”

      I felt fingers at the back of my head, poking around where the upside-down V was. I felt a rush of panic. I figured I was about to become the first kid in the world with a prescription for Grecian Formula.

      Heavy footsteps plodded into the room. “Excuse me?” Dr. Flood said. She sounded confused, maybe annoyed. “What are you doing here?”

      “Chaplain,” a gruff voice answered. “New on job.”

      While Dr. Flood dealt with the chaplain, Dr. Saark pushed my head back and slipped something in my mouth. He held my mouth shut, forcing me to swallow. From under his sleeve, I could see a tattoo that looked like two winding snakes.

      What did he just give me? Could he see my eyes were open? What kind of doctor had a tat like that?

      What was a chaplain doing here?

      “But…I never sent a request for a chaplain,” Dr. Flood said, sounding completely confused. “Are you sure you’re in the right room?”

      “Yes, correct,” the man replied. “For last rites. Hospital rules. These situations…you know.”

      Last rites? As in, the prayers spoken over people about to die—those last rites?

      I panicked. I was obviously in worse shape than I thought. Then my body lurched violently, and everything turned white.

      “He’s flatlining!” Dr. Saark shouted. “Dr. Flood, notify the OR. I need a gurney, stat!”

      My body convulsed. I heard choking noises—my own. And hurried footsteps as Dr. Flood left the room.

      The room was a blur of colors. The two men—Saark and the chaplain—were on either side, strapping my arms and legs down. My head jerked backward, and I thought it would crack open like an egg.

      Hold on. Don’t die.

      Dr. Saark stood over me, his face red and beaded with sweat. “Now!” he said.

      The chaplain was nearly a foot taller than Dr. Saark and at least fifty pounds heavier, but he snapped to, fumbling for something in his inner pocket. I could see his face for the first time—green eyes, ruddy skin, curly red hair, and a deep jagged scar that ran down the left side of his cheek and disappeared into a bushy beard. He pulled out a long syringe with one hand, and with the other wiped my arm with an alcohol pad. As he leaned down, I realized I’d seen him before.

      I tried to call out. I opened my eyes as wide as they could go. I stared at the man’s face, willing myself to stay awake.

      A word escaped my mouth on a raspy breath: “Red…”

      I felt a sharp pain in my left arm. As the room went black, one last word dribbled out.

      “…Beard.”

       CHAPTER FOUR

      THE DREAM

      A ring of fire, screaming animals, the end of the world. I am being attacked by a hose-beaked vromaski, whose breath is like a roomful of rotting corpses. Its head is long and thin, with a snout like a sawed-off elephant’s trunk. It has the sinewed body of a striped, shrunken cheetah, with long saberlike fangs and scales in place of fur.

      As it thunders toward me through the burning jungle, its stocky legs trample everything in its path. In the distance a fireball belches from the top of a volcano, causing the ground to jolt.

      The beast bares its teeth. Its crazed red eyes bore into me, desperate and murderous. But rather than running away, I face it head-on.

      Mostly, I think, I’m an idiot.

      I have a weapon in my right hand, a gleaming saber with a pearl-inlaid handle. It must weigh a hundred pounds, but it’s so well-balanced I barely feel it.

      I rear back. The polished blade of the saber reflects in the vromaski’s red eyes. The creature roars, hurtling itself into the air, its teeth bared and aimed at my throat.

      I swing with two arms. The saber shhhhinks through the fetid air, slicing off the beast’s head. Blood spatters onto my face and uniform, a brocaded tunic with a helmet and bronze chest plate, now washed in crimson.

      Before the slavering monster’s head hits the ground, a creature swoops down from above, its gargantuan wings sending a blast of hot air into my face. With a screech, it grabs the bloody head in its talons and rises. I stumble back. Its wingspan alone is three times my height. I watch in fright and awe, recognizing the great beast somehow. It has the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion.

      NO.

      The dream is not supposed to be like this. Before it was more of a game, the most awesome and scary 3-D video game ever. But now it feels different. The heat sears my flesh. The weight strains my muscles and the smells sicken me.

      I turn to run, and I spot…her. The queen. But she’s not the same either. She’s got darker skin than before and a long face lined with worry. Behind her, the land falls off steeply, and I see a vast plain stretching to the horizon. But I follow her glance, which is looking toward a deep valley near us, a depression in the middle of the jungle. She points to a cave opening and looks at me pleadingly. Something has pained her deeply, but I don’t know what—has someone attacked her? Stolen something?

      “What do you want me to do?” I shout. But she looks blankly back.

      The sky suddenly darkens. In the distance, behind the queen and far below us, I see something growing. A dark blue watery mass at the edges of the vast plain. It is moving toward us, changing shape, roiling and spitting. It seems to be swallowing the earth as it charges, crashes downward, and shakes the earth.

      In the valley, the cave is beginning to collapse.

      The queen’s mouth drops open. I see a crack growing in the earth. Trees, bushes, still aflame, drop inside the gaping maw. I must leave. I can prevent the destruction. But for the life of me, I don’t know how. All I know is that I must leave. I must race downward to the ocean. I must find someone—someone who looks a great deal like…me.

      I run. But the crack is now opening in my path. My brain is telling me I’ve been here before. This is where I die. I am heading for the hole.

      I can’t dream my own death again. Can’t.

      Somehow I know my brain can’t take this one more time. If I follow through, if I fall into the hole and die, this time it will be for real.

      The flying creature swoops down. I feel its talons burn their way into the back of my head. In the shape of an upside-down V.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      ARRIVAL

      “GEEEAHHH!” I BOLTED upward and immediately regretted it. The back of my head felt as if it had been blasted open, and I was afraid my brains would fall out.

      I had been facedown. I’d lifted myself to a push-up position, on a bed with sheets soaked in sweat. I dropped back to the mattress instantly, letting out a moan.

      What